Lycantherapy
by Sea Priestess
Summary: Eventual slash. Remus and Severus are signed in for therapy to improve their working relationship and throughout the torturous experience grow closer. Expect snark fests, psychoanalysis and group hugs aplenty!
1. Chapter 1

**Lycan-therapy**

Rating: PG-13 for eventual mild slash, bad language and big scary werewolves

Summary: Remus and Severus are signed in for therapy to improve their platonic relationship and through the torturous experience grow closer. Eventual slash. Expect snark-fests, psychoanalysis and group-hugs aplenty!

Disclaimer: The characters of Remus and Severus and the Wizading World in which they reside are sole property of J. K. Rowling. However, Doctor Aesclapius Van Dalen belongs to me which is no great consolation as he is quite ugly and smells of cabbage.

AN: The author would like readers to please note that she has never met a Dutch person in her entire life and therefore hasn't much of a clue when it comes to the accent. However, if any readers are offended or amused by her shoddy attempts at one, they should bear this in mind. (With **Parselmouth**'s advice I've done my best to rectify the dialogue so that it sounds vaguely convincing.)

Please feel free to take the time to stroke my ego or offer constructive criticism/corrections. I really do appreciate any reviews.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Today, we are going to examine your memories of de attack and how dey haunt you to de present day, yah?"

Doctor Van Dalen- a middle-aged, balding, pot-bellied Dutchman with a wardrobe to rival Hagrid's and a fondness for Kneazles bordering on obsession has been selected by Albus Dumbledore to cure me of my fear of werewolves. I and a certain lycanthrope have been participating in Van Dalen's counselling sessions for three weeks now and I can officially say it is working- I now feel more dread at the sheer mention of therapy than at having to interact with Remus Lupin.

This all came about as a consequence of _someone_ having slipped silver powder into said lycanthrope's porridge, coincidentally the morning after a somewhat heated quarrel between him and me over such varying subjects as my teaching methods, his affliction, my personal hygiene and his parentage. Dumbledore decided that if we are to ever work alongside each other comfortably and professionally as both colleagues, since Lupin's return to Hogwarts, and members of the Order, some form of intervention was necessary. This, I could deem reasonable, but not in the form of counselling sessions with Doctor Van Dunderhead.

I cast a distasteful glance over the by now all too familiar room. Van Dalen bangs and rifles through the rickety old oak desk in the right hand corner of the room on which are heaped piles of books ('An Exploration Of The Magical Mind', 'Confronting Fear: A Guide To The Use Of Boggarts When Treating Phobias' and 'Korina Cantaloop's Catalogue of Anti Depressant Potions' to name but a few), parchment and Kneazle statuettes. Behind the desk are bookshelves housing more books, parchment and Kneazle statuettes. The decor is a ghastly magenta and forest green with a clashing royal blue carpet strewn with more books, more parchment and yet more Kneazle statuettes. The overall look is one of absolute chaos. Opposite a dark olive armchair is the matching couch where Lupin has already made himself comfortable.

My sneer broadens- one glance at him and my fingers itch to seize my wand and cast a well-placed slug vomiting hex. Oh, how I despise the beast. Doctor Van Dalen spins around, eventually having found our case file and treats me to a crooked, nauseatingly cheerful grin.

"Really, Doctor, I must protest, we focussed on me last week. Isn't it time you began analysing Lupin's deep-seated guilt and fear of killing and maiming the innocent?" Lupin flinches. Van Dalen takes this as a reaction to my mention of his 'issues'; I assume it to be the sheer thought of having his psychological profile poked and prodded by this nut case.

"Zeverus, dat was insensitive! And you know what de punishment for being insensitive is." I groan in protest. Rictusempra for a full three minutes. The spell hits me for the seventeenth time in three sessions. Special exceptions ought to be made for inherently sarcastic individuals.

Minutes later I stagger across to the couch and sit as far away from Lupin as is physically possible. Van Dalen smiles- it is a disturbing sight. With a flick of his wand the seating shrinks and I am crushed between a green velvet cushion and a werewolf.

"Doctor, what is the meaning of his?" I feel violated; I have this man-beast's elbow digging into my hip.

"Tcha, you two are going to learn to sit within five metres of each other whilst being civil!"

"I'd rather sit on the floor-" I reply and move to rise but find my body bound to the chair.

"You-will-sit-where-I-say!"

His expression, which for the barest of moments had been frankly unsettling, is now as sunny and zany as ever.

"Remus, how does it make you feel when Zeverus refuses to even share a seat with you for fear of what you become at de full moon?"

The werewolf glances sideways at me, "Actually, I'd rather he sat on the floor, as well."

"You feel threatened by his behaviour towards you?" I roll my eyes.

"Er, everyone feels threatened by his behaviour towards the world in general."

I smirk; yes I'd like to think so too.

"Dat is interesting, most interesting. So, Zeverus, you feel dat you can combat your own fears by making de world fear you? Interesting, most interesting..." Van Dalen mutters, proceeding to scribble notes down into our case file. _Our_ case file, shared _between_ us, because Doctor Van Dalen believes it is integral to our treatment that we share all aspects of our therapy and most aspects of our everyday lives. Needless to say he was quite sure after five minutes of our first session that we were not to be the most co-operative pair and therefore to monitor us back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore has been enlisted to keep a watchful eye on us. We have been designated a sofa near identical to this one in the staff room to further torment us throughout the week- naturally, this has lead to both of us seldom appearing in there at the same time. We have been forced to share various other amenities, as well as being coerced into sitting next to each other at meals. Thankfully, neither Dumbledore nor Van Dalen has had the ingenious idea of having us share a bed yet- for which I am sure we are both mutually grateful.

"So, back on topic: Zeverus, what do you remember of de attack?"

I blink; Van Dalen is under the illusion that by making me relive the attack I might somehow come to terms with it and find the whole ordeal much less mortifying when, in fact, the adverse is true. "Gnashing teeth, slavering jaws, bloodthirsty yellow eyes, hot odious breath on my face, vicious snarling and growling," I drawl, in my most deadpan voice.

"Yah, yah, good, good- and dis made you afraid, yes? Dis made you fear for your life?"

"Of course it did," I snap at him. "A great hairy werewolf with its snout in my face, of course I was scared, wouldn't you be?"

"Did you experience nightmares after de encounter?" Van Dalen asks, all the while bobbing his head up and down whilst fervently writing notes.

"I was fifteen, I was nearly murdered!" I cry defensively.

"Did you find yourself excessively tearful or aggressive as a result of de attack?"

I sigh, exasperated, "I suppose aggressive, maybe slightly." Lupin snorts at this but Van Dalen ignores him and continues while I glower.

"Did you at any time soil yourself or de bedclothes in de immediate months after de attack?"

"No!" I feel heat rise to my cheeks, outraged by the audacity of it all. Lupin, the bastard, sniggers. "And he's not allowed to laugh!"

"Mister Lupin, please."

"My apologies, Doctor," the beast mutters, straightening his face with considerable effort.

"This is unfair!" I growl, beating a cushion for emphasis. "If I so much as smirk in here I get hexed. He is deliberately rude and offensive and he gets away unscathed! This is exactly what used to happen at school- they would get special treatment and I was discriminated against! It's bloody favouritism!"

"So, you feel Remus has always been treated comparatively better than you?"

Finally, we're getting somewhere. "Yes."

"Are you jealous of Remus, Zeverus?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Are you resentful dat his life seems to you of better quality, when you believe he is undeserving, being what he is?"

"Better quality of?" The man can barely afford to eat properly. "I simply commented that throughout our lives, whenever an opportunity has arisen, the Golden Gryffindor was always favoured above me in whatever the stakes might be."

"Give me an example of when dis has happened."

"This year, and three years before that, he has been appointed Defense Against The Dark-"

Lupin begins to laugh. "Not in the slightest bit jealous are we, Severus?" I scowl at him but he carries on regardless. "Besides, that has nothing to do with _me_. Albus just doesn't want to lose his Potions Master or," he pauses, "...well, you get a better deal when I'm teaching the subject anyway, what with being able to cover the lessons once a month."

He gabbles on, attempting to brush over the fact he knows more than he is letting on. I am not deterred. "Or what?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Why hasn't Dumbledore given me the job before?" I round on him. "Even when threatened with Dolores Umbridge? He's told you, hasn't he?" Told him, when he has never given me a reasonable explanation.

The werewolf becomes very interested in looking at his paws.

"He only thinks," he mumbles, "that if he gave you the job it might... Might be like employing a reformed alcoholic behind a bar."

Anticipating my mounting urge to hit him, Lupin shrinks away from me and visibly attempts to fade into the sofa. I begin to grind my teeth and flex my fingers irritably. Van Dalen is scribbling away. "What are you writing?" I snap.

"Zeverus, do you believe dat given a job where you would be exposed to de temptation of de Dark Arts that you might revert back to your old habits?" Dumbledore informed Van Dalen of my 'history' before our first session.

To say that I am offended by this would be a grave understatement. "No! The notion is bloody ridiculous; I am in complete control of myself at all times, dammit!" Ignoring this momentary slip which sees me leaping to my feet, seizing the nearest grinning Kneazle and hurling it against the wall. I sit back down, unapologetic.

"I would never use Dark Magic against a single one of those insufferable brats," I mutter angrily.

An awkward silence falls while Van Dalen writes another note on my apparent mental instability. "How has dis made you feel, Zeverus? Betrayed? Angry?"

"How do you think I feel?" I exclaim- as if my little demonstration just now hasn't been sufficient in displaying exactly how I _feel_. "I'm sick to the back teeth of talking about _how I'm feeling_. Let's discuss something else. Lupin! How does it make you _feel_ knowing 98 percent of the wizarding world fears and despises you?" Lupin looks affronted, and slightly hurt. Ha! Serves him right.

"Zeverus!" I tumble off the sofa squirming and giggling, and remain on the carpet until the effects of the hex wear off.

"You have applied for de position of Defense Against The Dark Arts instructor on a number of occasions, I believe, Zeverus?" He continues as though nothing has happened.

"Every year for the past fifteen years," I hiss through clenched teeth.

"Tell me what happened last time Mister Lupin was teaching at Hogwarts."

"You know very well what happened."

"What's the matter, Severus?" the werewolf interjects. "Attack of conscience? Can't bring yourself to repeat how exposed my nature to your students, forcing me out of the one place I've ever thought of as home?" The infuriating thing about Lupin is his ability to remain completely impassive whilst accusing me of wrecking his life/attempting to end his life/making his life a living hell...

"Exposed your nature, Lupin? Would that be your irresponsible and impulsive nature? Your deceitful nature? Precisely why ought I to have concealed the fact of you betraying the Headmaster's trust and your decision to go frolicking in the grounds with Black less than an hour before moonrise? I have absolutely no regrets over warning the children of the danger they were in," I counter.

Van Dalen interrupts, "Zeverus, why do you believe Remus to be dangerous?"

I roll my eyes, "Really, Doctor, even you could take a stab at it and stand a chance of guessing close."

"Nevertheless," he beams insincerely (Van Dalen's job requires him to exercise unconditional patience whilst dealing with cases such as myself) "I wish to hear it from your own lips."

I am beginning to believe that rather than addressing my 'deep-seated issues' this therapy is endeavouring to give me double the amount I began with. I breathe deeply, "Because," I start slowly, "Remus Lupin is a werewolf, a lycanthrope, a loup garou, a lobisomem, a ihmissusi, a lupo manero, an irrinja-" (1)

"And therefore is only remotely dangerous one night each month and not at all when under the influence of the Wolfsbane which I believe you yourself brew for him?"

"Which he forgot to take!"

"I understand that extra precautions have been taken to prevent this sort of thing from happening again," Van Dalen remarks calmly.

"Magically tagged like a proper animal, aren't you Lupin?" I sneer derisively. "Not that you deserve to even set another foot in the castle after your negligence. People might have died that night."

Lupin looks uncomfortable.

"Had I not alerted the students and, indirectly, their parents of the dangerous situation in which you had placed them, I knew the Headmaster would not have taken the appropriate action and your little moonlit venture would have been covered up. Your recent reinstatement at the school is proof of Dumbledore's unwarrantable softness when it comes to his particular favourites."

Lupin swallows hard, and grimacing asks in a hushed voice, "But why tell everyone? Why not go to Dumbledore, or to me first? I was prepared to resign. I was mortified by what danger I had placed you all in. Why make my condition public knowledge?

"Revenge? Was that it?"

I sneer at him. "Revenge for what? Running amok in the Forbidden Forest and shredding the school's supply of sneezewort? For failing to devour Harry Potter and Hermione Granger? Both of which are certainly unforgivable but no, Lupin, my primary reason was that had I concealed my knowledge of your conduct my conscience would have been blighted. I was simply ensuring justice was well served. I'm afraid the relish I felt at finally, after twenty five years, being able to reveal to the world what affable, good-natured Remus Lupin really is was just an added bonus."

"Zeverus," Van Dalen says after a moment of silence, "I have trouble seeing what agitates you more about Remus, his lycanthropy or his own character and de history between you?"

"Both in equal measures," I reply, one eyebrow raised since I would have assumed this was perfectly obvious.

"I see."

Scribble scribble goes the quill and I strain my neck to better read his untidy scrawl: _'Remus' condition impedes development of their relationship and causes communication difficulties. Severus uses it as an excuse to distance himself from Remus and fuel their mutual dislike_.'

* * *

(1) Here, Severus is demonstrating either his extensive linguistic skills or his obsession with lycanthropes. He'd probably prefer the former.

Loup garou- French for werewolf

Lobisomem- Brazilian

Ihmissusi- Finnish

Lupon manero- Italien

Irrinja- native Australian for devil dog


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

"...Lycanthropes were hunted as fervently as witches and wizards during de Burning Times. Historical records note that between 1520 and 1630, around 30,000 werewolves were hanged or burned at de stake in France alone, where de illness was rampant at de time and where it is believed to have originated. One might think, given these facts that we magical folk would take pity on them. However, lycanthropes have long been shunned in Wizarding Society- owing primarily to misinformation and hostile propaganda. Lycanthropes receive phenomenal amounts of bad press, just as witches do in de Muggle world. They are often painted as de villain in children's literature-"

This is unbelievably, mind-numbingly tedious. I wonder if Van Dalen is of any relation to Binns; even Lupin is starting to look drowsy.

"Muggles suffering from the condition call it porphyria. It is interesting to note dat a great many monarchs suffered from de disease, including James I, who was responsible for de driving force behind de Witch Burnings here in England; another cause of increased tension between lycanthropes and wizardkind-"

"Really, Doctor," I find I must interrupt- Lupin is drifting off and I'd hate for him to fall asleep. Drooling might occur. "I am quite aware of the technicalities surrounding Lupin's condition having received Outstanding on my Defence Against The Dark Arts NEWT."

"And having taught several unauthorised lessons on the subject in my absence a few years back."

I raise an eyebrow at Lupin's pathetic attempt at a jibe, "Quite."

"Zeverus, I merely wish to ensure you are not misinformed over any aspect of Remus' condition," Van Dalen explains. "You see, Zeverus, hatred stems from fear, and fear stems from ignorance, yah? Indeed, de philosopher Socrates thought ignorance was de source of all evil-"

I cut in before he can begin another lecture, "My dislike of werewolves, Doctor, comes from empirical knowledge of them."

Lupin snorts beside me. The bloody sofa still hasn't been re-enlarged and I feel we are a little too close for comfort. It is bad enough having to spend extended periods of time in the same room as Lupin without having him practically sitting on my lap. "Where do you find the gall to say you have empirical knowledge of werewolves," Lupin mutters, "without ever having experienced the excruciating pain of your very bone structure mutating, your teeth lengthening and splitting you gums, five million new hair follicles simultaneously wrenching themselves open and being powerless to stop yourself losing control over your own mind every month for years on end.

"You don't know what _fear_ is," he snaps finally. I roll my eyes at his melodramatics,

"My heart bleeds for you, Lupin."

Van Dalen is now watching the werewolf with piqued interest. "Remus, what form does your Boggart take?"

Lupin looks a little surprised by this question. "The full moon."

"I thought as much," Van Dalen says, tapping his chin contemplatively with the tip of his quill. "May I ask how you expect others to overcome their fear of your condition if you yourself cannot master it?"

Well now, this is a rarity, not to be the one on the receiving end of Van Dalen's psychological scrutiny.

Lupin seems to consider the question seriously for awhile, frowning in mild concentration. When he does speak, it is not an answer, "But, surely there is a difference between our fears? Severus fears me in my human state as well as in my lupine form, whereas I know myself to be in complete control at all times with the exception of the few hours at the full moon."

I scoff at him, "I don't fear you in your human state." The idea is laughable; when compared with Death Eater rallies and meetings in graveyards with the Dark Lord, Lupin in his cardigans fails to make much of an impact. "I merely find you repulsive company and annoyingly incapable of shaving correctly."

Lupin gasps indignantly at this and forces a laugh, "My facial hair offends you?"

"Immensely." It looks ridiculous.

"And those are your grounds for _poisoning_ me?"

"Stop dis bickering!" Van Dalen orders, already exasperated by us, "Zeverus, it is obvious to myself and those around you dat your fear of werewolves is spiralling out of control!"

I grind my teeth at this but say nothing.

"Now, as it has been brought up, what possessed you to try to murder Remus?" I am torn between indignation and humour at his conversational tone.

"I didn't attempt to kill him," I protest. The werewolf huffs incredulously. "I'm a Potions Master for Circe's sake! If I had wanted to kill him I would have succeeded. It was more of a practical joke. Lupin understands, don't you? You and your friends were quite the practical jokers if my memory serves me well." I turn back to Van Dalen, "I only intended to scare him a little." Lupin adopts his wounded-puppy expression.

"Like he scared you, yah?" Van Dalen supposes quietly, "When he transformed all those years ago." I remain silent and watch him write this down. Taking my lack of objection as an agreement, Van Dalen continues, "Remus, how does hearing dis make you feel?"

The werewolf with a very nearly convincing doleful face says "Sad?" as if undecided. Van Dalen nods and smiles encouragingly. "A little hurt."

"Angry?" Van Dalen prompts and something ambiguous flickers in Lupin's eyes.

"Doctor," I drawl, "do not suggest that Lupin feels aggressive at any time other than the full moon, he simply won't allow himself to feel he might be succumbing to his more animalistic side."

The werewolf shoots me a venomous glare but Van Dalen ignores me completely and urges again, "Remus?"

Lupin turns to Van Dalen, "Pitying. What kind of a wizard is unable to lay childhood grudges to rest after twenty years? One shouldn't feel angry towards those who are clearly mentally unhinged-"

"And you'd know all about _lunacy_, wouldn't you Lupin?" I interrupt acidly, "What are the latest figures? One in three werewolves end up in the St Mungo's Funny Farm after eventually cracking under the strain. Are you feeling quite sane, Lupin? Not hearing voices telling you to devour little children yet? No hallucinations-"

Van Dalen hits us both with tickling charms before Lupin has a chance to draw his wand. I think I have touched a nerve. Ever since we began these sessions, Lupin has become increasingly easy to provoke. Van Dalen really shouldn't encourage the man to show his true feelings; it isn't good for him.

"You will both stop dis incessant squabbling! It is unproductive and immature!" He snaps once the hex has worn off. "Now, where were we?"

Van Dalen resumes his lecture on the history and physiology of lycanthropes, "In 1985, de development of de Wolfsbane potion marked a revolutionary advancement in research into the disease- which in general, is grossly under funded. De Wolfsbane potion was discovered by Cyrus Zalewski, a leading Potions Master, already recognised internationally for his work with Bloodroot. His motivation behind the potion was his son's unfortunate encounter with a werewolf- the boy was left bitten at the age of ten. He embarked on a search for a cure for his son's affliction and after two years was rewarded when he stumbled across a potion that would suppress de irrational bestiality that accompanies de transformation-"

Now the man has the audacity to lecture me in my own field of expertise! As if I would be unaware of the context of such a radical potion.

"Now, we touched on dis in de last session," Van Dalen is saying. "You make de Wolfsbane potion for Remus every month, do you not Zeverus?" I incline my head in agreement. "A favour I find most interesting."

I arch an eyebrow, "I assure you, the situation is really not so complex; Dumbledore tells me to make the damn thing and I make it, in the knowledge that if I do not, the lives of Hogwarts' staff and students will be at risk and that I will not be able to sleep at night if I think there is an uncontrollable werewolf roaming the grounds. The old coot is very good at manipulating people like that."

"You feel manipulated?" Van Dalen enquires.

"Yes, used and abused, "I drawl, "don't you feel sorry for me?"

"I do appreciate it you know," Lupin pipes up. I turn to stare at him, now back to his old meek and mild self.

"So you say every month." No, I cannot fault the werewolf on his manners.

"Well, I'm just reminding you."

"Believe me Lupin, your gratitude is no extra incentive."

He shrugs coolly, "You have it anyway." Merlin, he is infuriating. I roll my eyes and this seems to amuse them both.

"Zeverus, your Boggart. It takes de form of a werewolf, am I correct?"

"Yes," I answer without inflection.

"Might I ask what your method for banishing it is?"

"No."

Van Dalen blinks slowly- I see the wheels turning in his mind as a mild frown settles on his brow- he thinks I am being deliberately contrary. "No? Why?"

"I don't wish to discuss it," I reply lightly. "You made it quite clear in our first session that if a topic arose which made us feel uncomfortable we had every right to object to it."

Van Dalen narrows his eyes and tries to read my face, "Are you able to banish a Boggart, Zeverus?"

I clench my jaw and say nothing, though my silence speaks volumes. I feel Lupin surreptitiously staring at me while Van Dalen scribbles down this embarrassing revelation. I am incapable of a simple banishment most Third Year students could manage...

"I have a Boggart in storage for phobia-treatment, Zeverus. Would you care to face it?"

I grin sarcastically, "Why, yes, what a treat that shall be! I'm sure it will make for fabulous entertainment- you both watching while I humiliate myself!"

"I tink we can be quite certain _Mister Lupin_ will not use it against you for personal gratification." The delicate stress on 'Mister Lupin' implying Van Dalen would add 'that is more the sort of thing you would do' but his code of medical practice forbids him. "And I certainly won't ridicule you over it." I raise a sceptical eyebrow. "Zeverus, if you practice facing your fear you will eventually be able to overcome it. Having difficulty facing Boggarts is a classic symptom of phobia sufferers. You are not alone-"

Oh Merlin, "Spare me the sentiments- any talk of us 'getting through this together' and 'believing in myself' and I'm leaving!" I grit my teeth at the unpleasant writhing in my stomach. "If I must do this let us get it over with as soon as possible."

* * *

Van Dalen returns minutes later with a large wooden chest, strapped up and fitted with several locks. During the time that has elapsed in his absence, Lupin and I have sat in silence, largely ignoring each other's presence.

"Now!" Van Dalen claps his hands to reclaim our attention. "Remus, if you could step away and Zeverus come over here, yah?"

I obey somewhat passively, and move to stand beside him in the centre of the room while Van Dalen with a flick of his wand rearranges the furniture to give maximum floor space. He clasps my shoulders in a vicelike grip that I assume is meant to be reassuring but only serves to heighten my level of panic.

"Zeverus, before we begin I tink dat it would be beneficial to do some breathing exercises!"

I stare mutely at the idiot while he orders me to join him in "breathing in, two, three four, breathing out, two, three, four". His whiskey nostrils whistle and quiver comically on the inhale, "and release through de mouth!" Van Dalen demonstrates by blowing a gust of fetid air in my face.

I comply, closing my eyes and breathing deeply if only to summon the sufficient self-restraint to keep me from hexing the old pillock into next week. It does little to alleviate my unease. I find it shameful that I have in the past lied to the Dark Lord without wavering, witnessed torture, rape and murder firsthand and not so much as flinched- and yet, I am afraid to face a pretend werewolf.

Van Dalen starts to babble on in a manner that is meant to be comforting, "Remember, Severus, you are about to face de Boggart in a controlled environment- you may ask to stop at any time and I will banish de Boggart straight away, yah?" I nod stiffly. "Now, when it has taken de shape of a werewolf, I would like you to visualise de creature's teeth dropping out, yah?"

As Van Dalen turns to unlock the chest, his movements seem to grow more languid. In the seconds before the lid is thrown back I chance a furtive glance at Lupin who is stood quietly by the window to my left. His expression might appear impassive to most, his gaze fixed on the chest in mild curiosity- but as a Legilimens, and having studied the subtle art of reading the outward physical disclosures of the mind's inner workings, I recognise an almost imperceptible change in the beast's posture, a shadow in his eyes- but before I can analyse further, the cold comes.

Impulsively, I tighten my grip on my wand and try to focus on its solidity. Blood is pounding in my ears, involuntarily my breathing quickens. Where is the Goddamn beast?

I smell it before I see it. Hot stagnant breath skims my neck and a low predatory growl rumbles behind me. The stench of filthy wet fur and ancient earth seems to fill the room. In my mind, I am transported back twenty five years to the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow. Nausea hits me in a series of waves, each one more intense than the last. Unable to unlock my limbs, I stand immobile, waiting for something to happen.

Grunting, it circles me, yellow eyes flashing.

Riddikulus. Yes, it is ridiculous, ridiculous that I am unable to speak a simple incantation, ridiculous that the word catches in my throat and chokes me. Its eyes are possessive, gloating; it knows it has won. It bares its teeth in a parody of a grin. Van Dalen is shouting something. The werewolf gnashes its jaws, hackles raised, its skulking shape is tense as it prepares to pounce-

* * *

I can only assume it was Van Dalen who banished the Boggart- I do not fully remember. I am led to the sofa and become vaguely aware of being told to "breathe deeply".

Lupin has come forward. He touches my arm, eyes brimming with concern; damn him. Damn him to a thousand hells, the bastard. His pity is possibly the only thing more humiliating than what has just happened. He draws back at the glare I give him, though whether it is contempt or fear he sees, I couldn't say.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

One week later sees Lupin and I seated as usual in Van Dalen's bomb site of an office while the man himself fixes us with a complacent smile. For the last five minutes he has been encouraging me to "share my thoughts" on what happened during the last session, and realising he is fighting a losing battle, turns his attention to Lupin.

"Remus, how did it make you feel to watch Zeverus' reaction to de Boggart last week?"

The werewolf has been acting unusually cautious around me ever since, avoiding me more than usual which I won't pretend isn't a welcome relief. I watch him fold his arms across his chest in a defensive manner before answering softly, "Like a monster."

Van Dalen shoots me a warning glance and I bite back the cutting comment I am about to make- not out of any regard for Lupin's feelings it must be understood, but because I do not wish to be on the receiving end of another Tickling Charm. Rearranging his face to look sympathetic, Van Dalen continues to speak to Lupin as though the werewolf were on his death bed- why, I can't fathom. He wasn't the one facing the beast and yet from the woebegone way he is acting he seems genuinely disturbed. He's too bloody sensitive, I can safely say I was not in the slightest bit hurt upon discovering that Longbottom's Boggart took the form of myself. In fact, I would have found the whole idea quite amusing were it not for his method of banishment.

"You must not believe dat, Remus," Van Dalen chides, "You think like dis and your self esteem will plummet lower and lower, yah? You are not a monster; you have a medical condition which upsets and frightens some people." Lupin continues to look downcast. "Tell Zeverus how seeing him face de Boggart affected you."

What makes the presumptuous old fool think I want to hear Lupin's pathetic whining? Enjoying other peoples' misery is like enjoying a fine wine- it quickly loses its merit when thrown in one's face.

Lupin eyes me warily, presumably debating my adeptness as an understanding listener. "Well," he mumbles, distractedly running a hand through his grey shot hair, "Severus, it... ah... It actually rather shocked me. Not so much seeing myself in wolf form, I mean to say, I assume it was myself-"

I interrupt his stammering, "I have since tended to avoid midnight meetings with any others of your_ kind_, Lupin".

"Yes, I'm sure you have..." He babbles vaguely before continuing, "It had never occurred to me that it all- the incident, affected you to such an extent. I honestly had no idea." Lupin almost looks confused enough to be believed; to think I ever credited the man with having some grain of intelligence. "To be fair, Severus, you are rather good at keeping people at arm's length. I was always rather quick to excuse what Sirius did and I'm sorry." _Now_ he's sorry? Oh, well in that case, let us forgive and forget. I hereby cast away all previous grudges and embrace the werewolf like the brother I never had.

Lupin continues his maudlin confession: "To tell the truth, I found it a little unsettling to see you so shaken when you always seem to be such a strong person."

I sit cringing while Van Dalen nods his bald little head until it looks about to sever contact with his shoulders, "Very good Remus, very honest." Don't encourage him, Doctor. "So, you were shocked, yah? What else?"

Lupin folds his arms tighter, eyes wide like a trapped Mooncalf. On second thoughts, I regret that we don't spend more time examining his emotional conflicts- it makes for good entertainment, watching him squirm.

"I've been feeling quite upset- I suppose because I don't like the idea of someone suffering because of me." He pinches the bridge of his nose, "I don't like the idea of someone being _frightened _of me. I could cope with hatred or anger but fearing me... It's my fault he's - _you've_," he amends, "had to live with this. I wish I knew how to make it right but-"

I find I must cut in, "Lupin, cease this pitiful, self righteous drivel this instant before I am reduced to tears. I don't wish to hear anymore of your pathetic whimpering _especially_ if it is helping to clear your conscience," I snarl, watching Lupin lower his eyes, wounded.

Van Dalen is frowning at me, clearly displeased, "What I find most interesting, Zeverus, is dat while you refuse to speak about your own feelings you ridicule Remus for being strong enough to do so. Now, I am well aware dat you are finding it difficult to put dis trauma behind you, and dat is why I am here to help, yah? I think I was perhaps a little rash in asking you to face a Boggart so soon in de treatment, Zeverus. However, I believe it would be beneficial if I booked you in for a course of Boggart Confrontation sessions with me. We would start with much smaller creatures and progress up to full size Boggarts as you grow in confidence, yah?

"But in de meantime, I think dat we might try some alternative techniques that I have found to be successful with some of my past clients: art therapy, for instance."

* * *

I stare blankly at the table before me, scattered with an array of garish Come-Alive Crayons, tubes of Putridescent Paints, Porlock-hair paintbrushes, quills, ink, and canvas and parchment in a range of shapes and sizes. Lupin, after initially looking reassuringly sceptical, appears to be considering what he is about to draw before setting about the task in hand. Van Dalen is seated in his usual overstuffed armchair studying his notes on us and I watch him for awhile, occasionally making futile attempts to lean casually forward and read his professional opinion on my mental state.

"Problem, Zeverus?"

Caught in the act, I shake my head rather too quickly. "Thinking," I say by way of explanation for my hesitation, confident that my refusal to participate will only end in giggling fits on the floor.

_An artistic representation of my fear_. Lupin has the same task. I try to sneak a glance at his response but he has deliberately twisted in his seat to obstruct my view. Looking to the walls for inspiration, various Kneazles grin out of their frames at me- I scowl, and sighing, put quill to parchment.

An hour later, Van Dalen stands and walks over to evaluate our progress. Upon seeing Lupin's picture he positively squeals with delight: "Oh, Mister Lupin; dis is exquisite! Magnificent! De brushstrokes here and- oh! Such delicate use of aquarelle... I did not know you were an artist, Remus!"

The werewolf waves it off, "Just a hobby," he says.

My curiosity gets the better of me and I sneak a sideways glance at Lupin's 'masterpiece'. He has produced a painting of a perfectly tame-looking wolf baying from a cliff top at the full moon. So unoriginal.

"You know, Remus," Van Dalen is fawning, "Dis is very promising- it shows you are able to find beauty in your fear and accept it with courage and understanding."

Yes, well he should have marks deducted for technical inaccuracy- since when did werewolves look cute and fluffy?

"...So subtle, de way de moonlight catches de pellet... And de shading here- oh!" The wolf- charmed to howl at its own leisure- does so now and has Van Dalen chuckling as though he had never before seen a bewitched painting.

With a pat of encouragement on the shoulder, Van Dalen moves away form Lupin to stand beside me. "Well Zeverus, what have we here?" Reaching for my haphazardly stacked pile of artwork, he squints at the top sheet and hesitates before enquiring, "Perhaps you would like to talk me through dem?"

"It's a werewolf," I say without inflection.

"OK, and dat der is blood, yah?"

I nod, bored.

"I see, and dis?

"Another werewolf."

"And what is dat sticking out of its mouth?"

"Legs."

Van Dalen nods slowly, "And dis one."

"Werewolf."

"And what is it eating dis time, Zeverus?"

Why do I feel as though I am being patronised? "Human entrails," I sigh impatiently.

"Ah, yes, I see from de pink-red squiggles there, yah..." Van Dalen continues to flip through the wad of parchment, nodding and humming occasionally. "Well done, Zeverus," he concludes finally. "Very... graphic. Very direct."

I smirk to myself. Lupin looks concerned.

"Next I would like you each to create a picture dat represents the way in which you might overcome your fears."

This is comparatively easier... In ten minutes I have executed a detailed sketch of R J Lupin's gravestone. Lupin sees it, glowers, and abandoning his monochrome depiction of a steaming goblet of Wolfsbane, takes up another sheet of parchment. He draws and labels a deeply flawed caricature of yours truly, including arrows that read 'perpetual scowl', 'mourning robes' and 'beak' (crossed out) 'nose'.

Bastard. Two can play at this game. I seize a new quill and begin drawing "Lupin's Summer Home": a miniature Lupin sprawled by a cardboard box labelled as the exterior view, the larder (a nearby dustbin), the bathroom (nearby puddle) and the flourishing garden (nearby dandelion).

Lupin counters with a crude drawing entitled 'Moldymort's Tattoo Parlour's No. 1 Customer' and is just adding the finishing touches when Van Dalen realises what we have been so engrossed in- he is not amused: "I am disappointed!" He actually shouts, making us start, and snatches the cartoons away to thrust in our file. "Especially with you, Mister Lupin." Lupin averts his eyes guiltily. "Dis is de sort of behaviour I have learnt to expect from Zeverus, but not from you!"

I open my mouth in indignation but am silenced with a charm and so fall to soundlessly muttering obscenities. "I apologise, Doctor," Lupin says quietly. Van Dalen ignores him, and checking his pocket watch he concludes it is time to end the session.

"I think the next time we will try a slightly different area of de arts. For de next session, I want you both to have written a piece of poetry dat examines your fear from a different angle, OK? Zeverus, I want you to write about how Remus' lycanthropy really makes you feel, yah? And Remus, I want you to do de same- how does your lycanthropy affect you emotionally?"

* * *

Our next session commences, as one might expect, with a poetry reading. I have since returned to the old crackpot every Wednesday and Friday evening for play-dates with his Boggarts- an experience I do not wish to recount. Suffice it to say little improvement was made and having to spend time with Van Dalen alone caused me to yearn inexplicably (and much to my self disgust) for Lupin's presence.

"Zeverus, I tink we will hear yours first. You have prepared a poem, I presume?" Van Dalen asks, fingering his wand; a casual threat. I produce a piece of parchment from the pocket of my robes with a flourish for his benefit and commence reading:

"Lupin, oh Lupin, I hate you, you beast.

I long for the day they announce you deceased.

For the hideous monster you become at full moon

Avada Kedavra could not come too soon.

-x-

Oh, where to begin my long list of complaints?

Wizards like you should be put in restraints.

By comparison, Death Eaters are much less scary

Than savage wolf men, insane and hairy.

-x-

Words cannot express the anger I feel

At almost being served for your evening meal.

My loathing grows deeper with each day that goes by,

You almost killed me, now I want _you_ to die.

-x-

As bloodthirsty beasts go, you're top of my list

Of those I'd destroy until none exist.

Forget manticores, chimaeras, nundos and dragons,

I'd rather watch werewolves be beaten or bludgeoned.

-x-

But which method of execution to choose?

A swarm of Dementors is sure to amuse.

Or possibly death by an angry lynch mob-

Magical or Muggle, they'd each do their job.

-x-

By weapon, by poison, by fire or by water,

Slow and painful is best, insufferable torture.

Lupin, oh Lupin, I hate you, you beast.

I long for the day they announce you deceased."

I wait for approval. Van Dalen takes a long deep breath before asking, "Was dis helpful to you in releasing your pent up aggression towards Remus, Zeverus?"

I consider this, watching the werewolf out of the corner of my eye- he is glaring at the carpet, jaw clenched tight. "Marginally."

Van Dalen notes this down, "Still, your fixation on _killing_ Mister Lupin worries me."

I roll my eyes dramatically, "It's _metaphorical_," I try to explain, "My desire to kill Lupin is actually the manifestation of my subconscious desire to rid myself of my phobia. My use of Lupin's name is symbolic."

Van Dalen looks unconvinced. Lupin looks despairing.

The werewolf is requested, with a sympathetic smile from Van Dalen to read his poem entitled "Moonlit Musings"; a disastrous string of anguished verbosity which makes dire attempts at being artistically tragic. Van Dalen looks about to wipe a tear away. He chokes, "Dis is beautiful, Remus. You must continue with your writing, yah? I think you have a real talent for it- no, I do!" -his reassurances are directed more at Lupin's dubious expression than my own- "I believe dat it is through de arts dat you might learn to cope with your fears.

"But Zeverus, I think dat your evident penchant for de dramatic might be channelled more effectively into, say, role-playing."

* * *

I take it all back- everything I ever said about hating any one of the Potters, Sirius Black, the Dark Lord and most especially Remus Lupin. Until today, I thought I had known what it is to loath and felt it for afore mentioned individuals. I now know the word to have an altogether more potent meaning. Doctor Aesclapius Van Dalen has crossed the line.

Clearing the room to leave a large space in the centre, Van Dalen arranged an eerie midnight setting: full moon, wizened trees and hooting owls; while I admit the man's transfiguration skills by far exceed his abilities as a psychotherapist they lack accuracy. When I point out that the actual attack happened in an underground tunnel, Van Dalen snaps impatiently, "Tcha! Not important."

Conjuring a realistic winter night sky, he continues babbling an explanation for the torture with which we are about to be inflicted: "By reversing roles and re-enacting de incident, it may help you to better understand the other's part in the attack which neither of you seem to be able to put behind you." Then, without consultation, the imbecile decides to introduce costuming.

I am wearing a fuzzy grey-brown werewolf body suit.

I have pointed werewolf ears and a tufted werewolf tail.

I am _not_ amused.

Hearing Lupin snigger, I turn to confront him. He is dressed in capacious black robes and cape, his hair is now longer and black. And his nose is... Lupin giggles, touches his nose, giggles again. On catching sight of me he collapses into hysterics.

"Oh... Oh, Severus," he gasps between fits of laughter, "We need a photograph taking!"

"Absolutely not!" If the students ever found out about this... The Longbottom saga as bad enough, but this is sinking to a new level.

Van Dalen, who is wheezing in the corner casts an 'Expelliarmus' before I can spell any changes to my outfit. Defenceless, I dare not protest when he directs us into starting positions, me behind an oak tree, Lupin in the far corner by the door. From there, he tells us, we must improvise, while he settles into his armchair to watch.

Still grinning stupidly, Lupin strides across the room, deliberately slowing his pace as he passes my tree. Without ceremony, I stroll around the trunk and, seizing the idiot by his robes, throw him to the floor- hard.

Lupin squeaks in surprise from where he is lying prone on the carpet, "Ouch!"

"Ouch?"

"That hurt," he mutters, sitting up and grimacing at a pain in his arm.

"You don't say 'ouch'! I'm a savage, rabid werewolf," I wave my paws for emphasis, "I'm about to bite you!"

"Please don't," he whines anxiously. Are those vampire rumours still doing the rounds?

I sigh dramatically, "Not literally, you retarded Flobberworm." I sneer at the thought- Lupin looks relieved.

"But if I was you wouldn't be sat there rubbing your shoulder saying 'ouch'!"

Van Dalen interrupts, "Can we get back on track, yah?"

We wait, seconds stretching to minutes for the other to make a move or say something. Lupin, to break the silence looks pleadingly in Van Dalen's direction and murmurs, "I'm really not very good at this."

"What do you think, or what can you remember Zeverus doing at dis point?" Van Dalen prompts.

I watch as Lupin decides to try to scramble away on his hands and knees, and place my foot over the edge of his cape; stumbling and falling flat on his face, Lupin continues attempting to pull himself free but eventually gives in and lies there.

"Zeverus? Do you not think dat de werewolf should be a little more _physical_ in his methods of restraint?"

I should have known the pillock wouldn't be able to resist criticising.

"Doctor, no amount of galleons could persuade me to roll around on the floor with Lupin," I reply with a sneer.

The dear Doctor, in turn, sighs impatiently, "You must at least act remotely like a werewolf!"

"Rah," I growl with minimal enthusiasm.

Lupin snorts but quails under Van Dalen's disapproving glare.

"I want some emotion, yah! Where is de terror? De unbridled trepidation?"

"My costume is chaffing," I complain, vainly attempting to reposition my tail inconspicuously. This sets Lupin off on another round of giggles.

Annoyed, and jealous of his more voluminous attire, I kick him. The outrage from both Lupin and Van Dalen is uncalled for.

"Zeverus, dat was unnecessary!"

"You said be more physical!"

"I was not condoning violence!"

Lupin, who is still in possession of his wand, retaliates by summoning a tree branch and directing it to strike me repeatedly over the head. Yelping in a most undignified manner, I abandon all proper decorum and fall to brawling on the floor with the werewolf, despite all previous reservations.

"Enough!" Van Dalen snaps and with a sweep of his wand we are caught by an 'Immobulus' in a most embarrassingly compromising position. "Dis is getting us nowhere!"

It took the idiot this long to realise these sessions are a pointless waste of time? Van Dalen levitates us apart muttering about "never having seen grown adults act in such a way" and "Hogwarts Professors are meant to be role models for the next generation". Reversing the transfiguration of the room and, thankfully, our robes, Van Dalen shows some mercy in relieving me of my furry apparel and releasing us from the Freezing Charm.

"I think perhaps, we should stick to de more conventional methods," he mutters, and waddles over to his desk to rummage through its contents. While we wait, I glare darkly at Lupin who pointedly ignores me. "I presume you have both used a pensieve before?" That said, Van Dalen produces a familiar bowl shaped object from the depths of a compartment I had not noticed before. The pensieve he places on the table before us is less ornate than Dumbledore's but functional nonetheless.

Tossing my wand back to me, Van Dalen explains what he has in mind. "I would like to revisit de attack directly through your memory, Zeverus," he announces, eyeing me critically. "It is my belief dat if you can come to terms with de incident, really overcome de trauma of de event, you may be able to not only forgive Remus, but also yourself."

Sweet Merlin, give me strength. "Forgive myself? What could there possibly be to forgive? I was the victim! None of this was my fault!"

Van Dalen shushes me and continues, "You are unable to forgive yourself your own weakness, Zeverus. Your pride is damaged by de knowledge dat you are a slave to your own fear and it is dis anger towards yourself dat you project onto Mister Lupin."

The man's twisted logic is infuriating.

"You will volunteer your memory, Zeverus?"

Reluctantly, I take my wand and focus on my recollections of the attempt on my sixteen year old life. The sensation of the memory being wrenched from my mind and forming as a strand of elastic silver smoke is unpleasant as ever, like the slow extraction of a hair from the scalp with an unmistakable pop as it is breaks away from the mind, leaving a vague emptiness and the certainty that something is missing. Wizarding psychiatrists in the 1950s had believed that by extracting painful memories from the mind of troubled patients and placing these memories in secured pensieves they could remove with the memory all the negative emotions that had stemmed from it, and with them, the unfortunate wizard or witch's psychosis. However, this technique proved ineffective and many of those it was performed on ended up in St Mungo's, their brains addled beyond repair.

I place the strand in the stone basin and watch it swirl then settle, pale and ethereal like liquid moonlight; how very appropriate. The surface ripples occasionally as though moved by some invisible wind, then begins to pulsate, then stills. I shake myself from the trance I have fallen into and raise my eyes to meet Van Dalen's.

"After you," he gestures.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Lupin and Snape, closely followed by Doctor Van Dalen, find themselves transported to the mouth of a tunnel. The full moon shining through the entrance three feet above them causes the night time frost to glitter coldly like splinters of glass on the dry dirt floor. The frost stops where the shadows begin. The dry scent of old earth hangs heavy in the air and tangles with something distinctly animal- wet fur, faeces, the sour tang of blood.

A dark, thin figure, clutching its robes about him walks soundlessly some way ahead, barely visible in the darkness. The three visitors wander slowly towards him but he does not see them. The younger Snape is searching the walls and the shallow ceiling for some trapdoor or passageway to poke his unusually large nose in. The darkness seems to press in closer with every second and the young wizard casts a 'lumos' to light the way, his words vaporising on the chill air.

The tunnel stretches out for minutes, the only alteration to its unchanging interior being the height of the ceiling. Lupin, Older Snape and Van Dalen walk on in silence, Van Dalen occasionally throwing such questions at them as: "How do you think you will react, upon seeing yourself in wolf form, Remus?" and "Do you think it would be beneficial if we were to spend a session revisiting the Whomping Willow where this happened, Zeverus?" Their respective answers being "I don't know" and "no".

The downward incline of the tunnel changes abruptly to a steep upward slope and in seconds the door to the Shrieking Shack is looming ahead. Snape the younger walks more purposefully and pauses to listen for some telltale noise that might give him a clue as to what illegal secret might lie ahead. Only silence replies. The older Snape and Lupin both inhale and unconsciously hold their breath as the naive boy before them pushes against the door which lets out a juddering creak as it swings wide open. Then silence blares obscenely once more in the ears of the observers who wait for something to happen. The young Snape frowns, peering into the dilapidated old cottage which has been ravaged by decay and something with worryingly large claws.

The younger Snape feels compelled to call out "Black? Lupin? I know you're there..." Silence. "What is this? Your cosy little love nest?" No response. Then from far away comes the low rumble of an animal's growl. The ignorant young Slytherin steps beyond the threshold and into the jaws of what could have been certain death. The growl becomes less distant and is accompanied by snuffling, scraping, the rasping of nails against wood. The grunts grow louder, the creature is moving closer, and Snape continues to move forward into the Shack, transfixed by the strange noises emanating from the room on his left, the door to which is collapsed on the floor. As he does so, the visitors hear the echo of footsteps pounding up the tunnel, but the boy does not; he is moving closer to the doorway.

The boy stops, stands petrified, staring into the room. The visitors watch his face flood with utter fright. Without warning he is knocked to the floor as a great hulking mound of grey fur and powerful muscle pounces, its claws effortlessly shredding robes to ribbons. The footsteps are close now. The werewolf's snout is inches above Snape's face and he is trying to look away, sobbing desperately.

"Mooney!" The voice of James Potter calls out from the doorway and the werewolf raises its head, distracted. Apparently deciding to injure its prey so as to lessen its chances of escape, the werewolf swipes a mighty claw across its victim's head, spattering droplets of red on the floorboards then bounds away towards the new arrival.

But before the visitors have a chance to witness anymore, the younger Snape whose memory they are intruding on blacks out and the walls of the tunnel and of the shack blur and implode on themselves. Colours, sounds, smells morph and twist and reshape themselves into Hogwarts' lawns, the castle and forest in the distance, the ghostly lit sky above, and the sight of Snape being none too gently shaken awake by James Potter. In the blur of events that had passed in the Shrieking Shack, neither the older Lupin nor Snape had been allowed time to react to the other boy's presence. Now though, Snape visibly recoils at the sight of his former enemy in the flesh, and Lupin steps forward, inexplicably drawn to the memory of his dead friend who is pulling young Snape to his feet.

"What the hell were you playing at?" Potter yells, causing the other boy wince. He is groggy and still swaying slightly from the blow to his head. Snape's robes are torn and his arms and chest are scored with claw marks, blood is trickling through his lank hair and dripping down his neck- he looks a sorry sight.

"Lupin's a werewolf?" Snape blurts out, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disgust.

James Potter's elfin features contort with rage, "Stupid nosey fucker," he spits and punches Snape. A painful crunch sounds and the Slytherin keels over, clutching his nose while blood and spittle dribble from his mouth. "You say one _word_," he kicks the boy in the stomach for emphasis, "of this to anyone and I'll kill you myself, got that?"

Snape remembers thinking 'but when I tell the Headmaster, I won't have to worry about death threats from James Potter. When the Headmaster finds out about this, Potter and Black and Pettigrew will be expelled from Hogwarts for good. And that _monster_ will be disposed of.'

But that wasn't what happened at all, because Dumbledore had masterminded the whole sordid conspiracy.

And so was marked the first of Severus Snape's steps away from all that is light and honourable and good, towards the darkness, the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.

-x-x-x-x-x-

On returning to Van Dalen's office I sink somewhat shakily onto the threadbare sofa and concentrate on consciously striving to steady my heart rate. Lupin's eyes dart to my face and away again repeatedly until I want to gouge them from their sockets.

"Zeverus, you look pale," Van Dalen states bluntly.

"I live in a dungeon," I bark testily, "Such circumstances tend to leave one without much colour."

Van Dalen frowns, "How are you feeling?"

"Why must you always ask us how we feel?" I snarl at his infernal concerned expression. "Perhaps I don't _feel_ anything." It is certainly a popular opinion throughout Hogwarts.

"Well, you obviously feel something or de memory would not still affect you so."

"Fine; anger, bitterness, loathing, detestation, abhorrence, resentment-"

"Towards Remus?"

"Towards the whole group of them."

"The other, er, Mischief Makers?"

"Marauders," Lupin and I correct simultaneously.

"Yah."

"Yah," I repeat, though he ignores my mocking.

"They were de one's who lured you to Remus?"

"It was their idea of a practical joke," I say, shooting a venomous glare in Lupin's direction.

"I had nothing to do with it, as I have repeatedly told you before, Severus." My incredulous look only fuels his determination to explain, "Do you honestly still believe, after attending these sessions that I would have wanted to harm you when it is my greatest fear? Be rational!"

"Black and Potter planned it, then," I concede.

Lupin shakes his head wearily, "James didn't know what Sirius had done until he bragged about it later."

"And decided to take it upon himself to play hero, how selfless, how benevolent."

Van Dalen is scribbling something down, looking perfectly smug. "Displacement," he exclaims suddenly. "Zeverus, you are projecting all of your old hatred onto Remus, the only remaining Marauder and dis is why de two of you are unable to get along!" He considers this for a moment then adds, "As well as your lycanthropophobia, deep-rooted jealousy and lingering childhood rivalry." Van Dalen snaps shut our file and smiles broadly at us, "I think we shall conclude here for today."

Praise Agrippa, Merlin and Circe, Paracelsus, Ptolemy, Morgana-

"Zeverus?" I stop walking and turn slowly, already part way towards the door. "I would like you to read dis before de next session, yah?"

Van Dalen takes up a rather battered copy of 'Hairy Snout, Human Heart' from his desk and pushes it into my hands. I splutter in objection, "Doctor, I hardly think with my busy schedule-"

"And Remus, you will continue with your poetry yah?" The werewolf nods and smiles politely. "I will, of course, be reporting back to Albus Dumbledore on de progress you are making," he continues, his words laden with implication. I clench my teeth and walk away. "I will see you on Wednesday, Zever-"

I slam the door with a burst of wandless magic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

After informing Lupin of the progress, or lack of, I am making in our one to one Boggart Confrontation sessions, Van Dalen launches into the topic for today: "I want to talk about de Marauders." Van Dalen settles back into his arm chair and peers over his wiry spectacles at us. "It has been brought to my attention that der are perhaps some lingering feelings of resentment that Zeverus is harbouring.

"So, Remus," the werewolf shifts uncomfortably beside me, "tell me a little about deez friends of yours."

"James Potter, father of the celebrated _Harry Potter_, was a sadistic bastard so vain he would have put Narcissus to shame. Sirius Black, his best friend, was a pretty boy homicidal maniac who would fuck Lupin on occasion, leaving him under the impression they were in some sort of a meaningful relationship; he was jailed in Azkaban for crimes that would later turn out to be the work of Peter Pettigrew: an overweight, vertically challenged waste of space whose greatest accomplishment was being solely responsible for the resurrection of the Dark Lord," I answer smoothly for him. Lupin sighs.

Van Dalen swiftly notes all this down before eyeing me critically, "Obviously, you did not get along, Zeverus. Why, in your opinion, was dat? What happened to cause dis feud between you? What reasons had they for disliking you?"

"As I recall," I say loftily, "Black once made the enlightening observation that 'it was more the fact I existed' than anything else."

Van Dalen doesn't seem to deem this remark worthy of a written notation. "Would you agree dat House rivalry perhaps played some part?" Having attended Hogwarts himself as a Ravenclaw, Van Dalen would be well aware of the great Slytherin-Gryffindor divide.

"I would agree it helped to fuel our mutual dislike, yes."

Here, Lupin interjects mildly: "Sirius knew the family name Snape to be synonymous with the words 'Dark Arts' and 'Grindelwald' and 'Unforgivables'. And Severus didn't exactly make any effort to assuage the rumours."

"For such a stoic pillar of virtue who claimed to be against racial prejudice of any kind, he was terribly hypocritical."

"At least Sirius never swore allegiance to the Death Eaters," Lupin counters in defence of his dead boyfriend. The feeble jibe barely touches me.

"No that was left for Pettigrew wasn't it?"

Lupin swallows any further comment he was about to make and turns to Van Dalen, "In truth Doctor, it started on the first day of school, before the Sorting could even take place-"

"_Shut it_, _werewolf_," I hiss at him. My glowering has little effect however, as he continues regardless of my mounting wrath.

"Sirius made him cry on the school train." Lupin announces triumphantly, a shadow of a smirk at the corners of his mouth.

I want to skin him like a shrivelfig…

I watch Van Dalen's brow crease as he inevitably endeavours to picture me as a blubbering eleven year old.

"Severus said something to wind Sirius up so Sirius threatened to throw Severus' wand out of the train compartment's window. He taunted you about it 'til the day he died, didn't he?" Hence the nickname. In my defence, it was not Black's intimidation that had distressed me so, but rather the knowledge that the punishment I would receive from my parents, for losing my wand on the first day of term, would be by no means lenient.

"There were- other- incidents…" Lupin drifts off, the beginnings of shame tugging at his famously compassionate Gryffindor heartstrings.

I interject before Lupin can go into descriptions of any other potentially embarrassing episodes: "Sirius Black was a vicious bully- he deserved every year he spent in Azkaban and more besides. He should have been convicted of murder at the age of fifteen but oh no, not Dumbledore's Golden Boy," I spit the Headmaster's name with a new level of bitterness.

Lupin massages his temples, "Sirius never meant for the prank to go that far…"

"Black knew exactly what he was doing; he was fifteen years old, old enough to be held responsible for his own actions. He attempted to _take my life_. Why does that not penetrate your thick skull?" I tap my head a little too zealously for emphasis and feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on.

"And what about me, Severus? Was my life not at risk too? Had the authorities found out I would have been executed for sure; do you not think I hated Sirius with a passion when I found out what he'd done the next day? I refused to speak to him for months after that. But I found it in my heart to forgive him-"

"And do you suggest that I do the same? There was never any excuse for your nasty, spiteful little games." My voice is dangerously soft.

Lupin breaks eye contact to stare at the picture of Kneazles dressed in 18th century frocks at a tea party hung behind my head, "And I've apologised to you countless times; we were children back then, we made mistakes, we hurt you and we're sorry."

This enrages me by gargantuan proportions. "Black and Potter are dead, don't speak for them- they were never sorry! And don't think for one second," spittle shoots from my mouth in my fury, "that I'm being selfish or stubborn in not accepting your apologies; how can you possibly expect me to forgive seven years of your taunts and hexings and beatings? You might only have been children, but _so was I_!"

Lupin shrinks back into the sofa, scratching his upper lip with a fingernail. Van Dalen takes the opportunity to pose me a question, "Dey were often violent towards you?" I nod stiffly, "How did you cope with dat, Zeverus?"

"I retaliated of course," I reply sharply, "but I was always out numbered."

"You had no friends to support you?" The Doctor prods.

"No," I treat him to one of my most derisive sneers, "I was the greasy little loner who nobody wanted to play with; tragic, I know."

Van Dalen scribbles down 'uses sarcasm as a defence mechanism'.

Bastard.

"Did you envy them their closeness, Zeverus?"

"Why should I? In all honesty, Doctor, I would rather have lived my life in complete solitude than to have been befriended by Sirius Black and James Potter."

"Dey were de leaders of dis little gang den?"

"Yes, and taking in charity cases was a favourite pastime of theirs," I remark, looking pointedly at Lupin. "It helped to make them appear more noble;" I adopt a falsetto voice, "see how sweet James Potter is, he lets poor little Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew follow him round and reflect his greatness; so generous, so kind-"

"I was not a pity project to them, Severus," Lupin cuts in. I have noticed his extra attempts today to restrain himself from losing control. When he speaks it is with measured tonality: "We were _friends_. I know that term means little to you but-"

"Oh please, Lupin, you're delusional! They used you for their own benefit- you did their homework, you tended their illegally-begotten wounds, you held their books while they educated anyone Slytherin in the dubious supremacy of Gryffindor House. Why do you think Pettigrew betrayed them? He got sick of being recognised as the fat little tag-along."

"Might I interject?" Van Dalen makes another well timed break in. "Zeverus, am I right in assuming dat Remus and dis Pettigrew played little part in tormenting you?"

"Pettigrew provided the applauses while the other two hexed me; Lupin was always conveniently looking in the opposite direction."

"Why den are you still so outwardly hostile towards Remus?"

I sigh and offer, "I thought you called it displacement."

"So you admit den, dat you are projecting your hatred of them onto Remus?"

"And Harry," Lupin adds softly.

Van Dalen turns his head to frown at Lupin quizzically, "Harry Potter?"

"He bears the brunt of all your old hatred for James and I for Sirius."

Van Dalen is now scribbling with a fever 'intimidates students, esp. HP to reassure himself they cannot hurt him'.

"How did you feel when Sirius Black died?" he asks me.

"Ecstatic."

"Do you think of him often?"

"I often think of him languishing in the fiery bowels of hell," I offer helpfully.

"How often? Once a day? Twice, perhaps?"

"I do not have a fixation with him, if that is what you are implying."

"Zeverus, I would like to try something with you." Van Dalen rises to rummage through a bookcase on which he finds a small discoloured scroll. Unravelling it, he announces: "I am going to say a few words to you and you are going to say de first word dat enters your mind. Ready?"

The results after this pointless little exercise are as follows:

_Van Dalen:_ _Scroll: Me:_

Wizard (Witch, Wand) Black

Death (Life) Lupin

Dog (Cat) Black

Moon (Sun) Lupin

Black (White, Night) Black

Short (Tall) Lupin

Tree (Bark, Leaves) Willow

Hate (Love) Black

Poor (Rich) Lupin

Van Dalen seems to relish telling me that not a single one of my responses were considered the norm by the WPA's (Wizarding Psychiatric Association) standards.

"Zeverus, I am going to suggest dat your mind, at times, can become rather single-tracked."

"How dare you."

"You are obsessed with Mister Black and Mister Lupin."

"I am not!" I am too outraged to formulate a more lyrical protest.

Lupin coughs and averts his eyes when I glare at him.

"You cannot distance yourself from deez painful memories dat you are obviously still traumatised by."

"I am not traumatised, I am _bitter_."

"Zeverus, if you will allow me I would like to try a short session of hypnotherapy with you."

I narrow my eyes at him; the imbecile expects me to submit my subconscious mind to him while I rest vulnerable on this bloody couch with a werewolf not two feet away? "Are you out of you mind?"

"In a trance state it may be easier for you to speak about deez painful memories. Hypnosis allows de patient to revisit such incidents and to come to terms with them more readily. It would involve a simple charm being placed-"

"Not only is such an idea _abhorrent_, it would be highly irresponsible if I were to allow such an invasion of my mind; I did not spend two years mastering occlumancy for the purpose of safeguarding top secret information about the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters to simply lay my mind open at the drop of a hat for complete _strangers_-" Van Dalen looks affronted "-to delve through at their leisure."

"Zeverus, would Albus Dumbledore entrust me with de task of treating de mind of someone such as yourself if he did not have complete faith in me?"

I roll my eyes; Dumbledore's friends are batty at best. When I think of the many crack pots and deceitful twits Dumbledore has professed to have complete trust in: Hagrid, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, Gilderoy Lockhart, Moody; hell, he trusts _me_…

"Besides, Mister Lupin will be here to stop me taking advantage of you."

"How incredibly comforting."

Lupin offers helpfully, "Would it not be easier if I were to volunteer my recollections of the incidents?"

To my surprise, Van Dalen looks at him with something akin to distrust. It seems that my accounts of Lupin and his friends' adolescent escapades have not impressed him to say the least.

Sighing theatrically, I concede, "I'll do it." If only to prove once and for all what a detestable creature Remus Lupin really is.

-x-x-x-

Wasting no time, Van Dalen pulls out his gold pocket watch and chain. He directs his wand at the clock face and mutters "Hypnos Initium"; a beam of pale blue light is called forth from the wand's tip and magic ripples visibly over the watch's casing.

"Mister Lupin, it would be wise for you to look away momentarily." The werewolf promptly shields his eyes.

Van Dalen instructs me to relax and follow the movement of his watch with my eyes as he lets it swing back and forth in a pendulum motion. Slowly at first, the room begins to fade at the corners, the garish wallpaper to melt into grey nothingness. My vision blurs and I feel myself sink from the inside into the cushions behind me and through them, through the floor, through the earth, slowly, purposefully, until eventually I feel myself settle in limbo between the abyss beyond and the room I have just left and yet am still fully conscious of existing around me. Lupin is breathing to the left of me, the carpet is solid under my feet and yet it is eons away.

I hear Van Dalen's voice as if it were muffled behind a curtain, "I want you to picture yourself as you were when you were much younger, Zeverus. And as you picture yourself, you feel you are a teenager again. Your body is still that of a boy, you have yet to experience the trials of your adulthood. I want you to visualise yourself back at Hogwarts, Zeverus, when you were so much younger and I want you to remember a time when you were feeling particularly upset or particularly scared, can you do that for me, Zeverus?"

His voice has taken on a melodic quality; his sentences are waves rolling over one another, into one another, in a perpetual rhythmic undulation; whether this is the effect of the charm or the required technique I am unsure. I hear myself replying without thought or will or care, "Yes".


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

Van Dalen signals for Remus to uncover his eyes and the werewolf shifts on his seat to get a better look at the wizard beside him. Severus' head is resting on the velvet upholstery behind them, strands of lank hair falling across one eye. Remus ponders his profile for a moment; Severus Snape is all angles and sharp edges, even in sleep with the frown lines smoothed out and lips relaxed from their permanent hard line he still manages to look grim; he looks pained, Remus concludes.

"Describe what you see. Where are you?" Van Dalen asks the sleeping wizard.

"In the grounds" is Severus' automatic reply.

"What time of day is it?"

"Afternoon, classes have just finished." The voice talking is not Severus' own, Remus thinks; it is devoid of its menace laced with silk, it is empty of resentment, of anger, of anything at all.

"Who is with you?"

"Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew."

"What are they doing, Zeverus?"

"Potter is shouting. The others are laughing."

"And what are you doing, Zeverus?"

"I'm sitting in the mud. My robes are covered in mud."

"Why are you sitting in the mud, Zeverus?"

"Black tripped me."

"What are dey saying to you?"

Severus appears to be listening to a voice neither of the other men in the room can here. After a moment, his monotonic reply is "Black says that if I'm going to use such foul language towards them I've got to apologise."

"Are you apologising?"

"No." There is no trace of scorn, only fact. "…Black says that if I don't they're going to make me eat my words."

"What happens next, Zeverus?"

"Black is holding my hair… pulling back my head, holding my mouth open…" In his trance Severus chokes on air; Remus' breathe hitches, the scene disturbs him.

"Severus, what is happening?" Van Dalen's voice is firm, guiding Severus back to the narrative.

"…feeding me leech juice," Severus gags again, spits, "tastes disgusting."

"Where is Remus?" Van Dalen asks and Remus' stomach flips nervously.

"Watching."

Remus can remember the incident clearly. They'll go on to force pickled tubeworms, black beetle eyes and some jellied purple caterpillars into his mouth, he thinks grimly. He can remember looking at Severus and watching him try to cough it up before it slid down his throat, he can remember the grey slime mixed with saliva that had gathered in a thick strand and dangled hypnotically from Severus' chin.

"I though you liked Potions, Snivellus?" Remus thinks he can hear James saying between bursts of laughter. Severus is spitting again.

"Appalling manners, Snivelly, utterly appalling. Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to spit?" Remus can see Sirius' predatory smirk now, and that glint that would appear in his eyes before he went for the kill, full of malice; Remus always hated the monster Sirius would become when it came to taunting Snape- but then Remus had always forgiven it. After all, Remus harboured his own monster too.

"But then, I don't suppose your mother has very high standards. From what I've heard she'll spread her legs for _anything_; if it has a pulse, that's a bonus!"

Peter was shrieking with laughter at Sirius' goading, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks.

"I mean, she'd have to be a slag to go with your dad- he's an ugly git isn't he? The father-son resemblance is really quite striking-"

Remus no longer needs Snape's dead pan commentary to remind him of the chain of events. He already knows what happens next: Severus attempting to lunge at Sirius but sinking in the mud and James bodily restraining him.

"Temper, temper, Sni-vellus," Peter is singing from the sidelines, unwilling to get involved in the brawl yet feeling he should participate in some way.

Remus can remember Sirius laughing heartily, "She's a dirty trollop, your mother. From what _I_'ve heard she's got all sorts of filthy diseases-" and Sirius had gone into disgustingly lurid detail as to precisely what the symptoms of these might be before speculating whether or not this might also have had something to do with the Snape family's apparent lack of personal hygiene.

In reply to this, Severus swears profusely and makes vicious threats of hexing Sirius' manhood.

"What is happening now, Severus?" Van Dalen's question brings Remus back to the room they are seated in. He notices the wizard beside him is gasping, gargling, spluttering in his hypnosis.

"…holding my face in the mud…" He spits again, "says if I like the taste of filth so much I shouldn't mind…"

Severus' head jerks from side to side, his face contorted in distress. "It's in my eyes," he chokes, unnerving Van Dalen who says: "Severus you are going to leave dis memory now and move to a different one…"

Remus sits listening to each recount, his unease mounting as incident after incident plays out in his mind, long forgotten memories seeping to the surface, bidden from the recesses of his mind by Severus' dispassionate commentary. He listens to the sleeping wizard describe the incident in their fifth year by the lake, when James strung Severus up and exposed him in front of half of the school.

"How are you feeling, Zeverus?"

"Humiliated."

And Remus fidgets on hearing about the time when Sirius hexed Severus during one Transfiguration lesson; that particular hex had been a subtle one; it bid globs of yellow goo to bead at the roots of Severus' already lank hair and over the duration of the lesson the secretions gradually increased until Severus had sat mortified while rivers of grease slid like treacle down his head and pooled on his shoulders.

"Two of the girls started screaming at the sight of me," Severus states dreamily in his trance.

And Remus sighs unhappily as Severus talks about the time they were in Hogsmeade on Valentines Day, and on seeing Severus wandering around alone, James decided to bribe a chubby-faced cherub to chase him, singing at the top of its voice:

"Snape's an ugly queer,

He takes it up the rear.

He has to pay

Or else, no way!

The fags won't let him near!" if Remus recalled correctly. A rhyme which had left Sirius and Remus feeling distinctly uncomfortable for some time afterwards, having not yet revealed their secret relationship to their friend and now feeling all the more reluctant to do so.

And Remus visibly cringes at the mention of the bladder weakening curse Sirius struck the Slytherin with during Ancient Runes when Professor Bellywinkle had refused Severus' request to go to the bathroom.

"Oh dear," Sirius had exclaimed loudly, "Did little Snivelly need to go pee-pee? Sir, I think you should have let him go earlier!"

The class had erupted into hysterical whoops of laughter on seeing the puddle that was collecting on the stone floor beneath Snape's chair. Even his fellow Slytherins were bellowing at the sight of Severus sat helpless to the effects of the hex, his cheeks burning hotter than the steam of liquid soaking through the crotch of his robes and dribbling humiliation down his thighs.

"Severus," their Professor had muttered gently, embarrassed for the boy, "go to the bathroom and clean yourself up."

Sirius, barely able to contain his glee at the uproar he had caused shrieked, "Shall I take him, Sir?" He leapt from his seat and rushed over to where Severus still sat unmoving, glaring hard at his desk. "Come on, Snivelly, take my hand- no, wait, on second thought don't; you might get Snape Slime on my robes." Sirius had backed away theatrically and stood beckoning Severus towards the door.

"Mr Black, take your seat at once, Sir!" boomed Professor Bellywinkle. "A month's detention for such a despicable display."

"Sir, I think it would be pretty hard for me to top _Snape's_ despicable display-"

"TWO MONTHS' DETENTION!" yelled Professor Bellywinkle, his piggy eyes bulging, jowls wobbling menacingly. "And that goes for the rest of you if you don't _quieten down_!"

Remus remembered Sirius telling him later that two months' detention would be well worth it.

After listening to his account of the time Peter switched Severus' pumpkin juice for a Belching Beverage and created havoc in the Great Hall at the Welcome Feast, Van Dalen seems to feel he has heard enough: "Severus, listen very carefully to my voice. Although it seems we have only scraped de surface today, I would like you to take de first step towards putting deez painful memories behind you. I would like you to visualise yourself in a place where you feel you are safe, can you do that for me Severus?"

"Yes."

"A place you feel safe from all that you fear might harm you. In this safe place, you see before you a pensieve-"

But Remus can scarcely concentrate on the visualisation exercise Van Dalen is performing with Severus. He is far too concerned with the guilty knot weighing heavily in the pit of his stomach. Remus wonders how he has ever been able to look Severus in the eye and he dreads the moment when those same eyes will open in a moment's time because he knows Severus will hate himself for what he has just disclosed and hate Remus even more because he is the nearest person to blame. Remus realises he might deserve to be blamed.

"And now, Severus, it is time for you to leave behind deez memories and come back to the present. You can feel this, Severus, you can feel yourself lifting out of the darkness and leaving safely behind the old resentments, the old pain that you associate with those memories. You feel lighter without them, you feel less constricted.

"When I speak the incantation, you will awaken from your trance. _Hypnos Finite_."

-x-x-x-x-x-

I feel myself being propelled upwards at a dizzying speed, out of the trance, out of the memories, and flashing impressions of the room reach me before I open my eyes. Reality comes back into focus as I feel myself slip between planes of consciousness. Every pore tingles as I feel my essence, my soul, whatever one wishes to call it, seep back into my skin and snap into place. The thick blanket of calm is lifted from my senses leaving my mind refreshingly clear- in the name of Circe, _what have I just done_?

My eyes fall on Van Dalen, who is staring at me with an expression of grim concern. Forgetting to scowl at him, I try to avoid his blatant scrutiny by turning to look at Lupin. The werewolf is watching a ceramic Kneazle by his foot as if expecting it to come alive at any moment.

"How are you feeling Severus?"

I roll my eyes. "Hazard a guess, as wild as you like," I sneer at him.

"Zeverus, I want you to start admitting to us when something upsets you, yah? As part of de therapy I hope for you and Remus to eventually be able to share how you are feeling and be sensitive to each other's feelings! Remus cannot support you emotionally if you do not communicate with him about how revisiting deez memories affected you."

"I don't want his emotional support!" What a horrible idea.

"Well, you need it," he says, frowning at me and waving his hands dismissively. "Childhood bullying can have all sorts of detrimental effects on de adult psyche. You might suffer from low self esteem, depression, lacking social skills-"

Lupin snorts, catches himself, and lowers his head, looking deeply ashamed. Van Dalen shoots him a withering look.

"Am I correct in assuming de tormenting you described continued throughout your seven years at Hogwarts?"

"You are."

"Did they never receive punishment for their actions?" Van Dalen asks.

"Not often. Dumbledore has - shall we say - an _unfortunate_ habit of making exceptions for his favourite students. Potter would later become Head Boy. All through school they were only ever rewarded for their transgressions, just like Potter the younger. Attempted murder earned Black a month of detentions with Filch. The icing on the cauldron cake was that I had to accompany him! I suppose it was a similar scheme of the Headmaster's to this one- force us to spend regular amounts of time together in the vain hope that we would come to an _understanding_," I observe with a sneer.

Van Dalen nods but seems troubled by something. "I find it difficult to believe Dumbledore would have been oblivious to this frequent antagonism or that he would have turned a blind eye. Was it always unprovoked attack?"

"For the most part, it was."

"You gave as good as you got sometimes," Lupin interrupts suddenly. "It wasn't as though you never had your revenge. Remember Third Year, when you made James' hair fall out?" It grew back by the next day, I reminisce unhappily. "And that time you bewitched a suit of armour to chase Peter with its axe? He wouldn't leave the dormitory for three days after that."

"Remus, what do you have to say for yourself?" Van Dalen's words are not accusative, merely an invitation for the werewolf to defend his behaviour.

Lupin lowers his gaze once again. "I genuinely regret my hesitation to intervene," he tells us in a small voice. "It was spineless of me, I admit it. I was a coward. I couldn't bare the thought of losing the only friends I ever had so I always withheld from standing up to them.

"It's not a reason I'm proud. I'm sorry," he finishes lamely. Somewhere in the middle of his little lament, Lupin found the courtesy to make eye contact which I now break,

"I don't want your apologies, you dolt," I hiss at him.

"What do you want, Severus?" Van Dalen queries quietly.

"To see him _suffer_," the way they made me suffer.

"I'm a living breathing curse, Severus, what more would you wish on me?" Lupin counters, a little shrilly, "If you hate and fear werewolves so much what worse fate would you invent for me?"

Oh, I don't know, maybe I could fasten a cage of rats to your abdomen? Heating the bars would scare them into gnawing their way out through your bowels. The rack, on the other hand, would be far less messy…

"Don't you think I suffer from the guilt of knowing that I never did anything to stop them? I often wonder had I intervened more, if you might not have turned to Voldemort-"

"How very Gryffindor of you," I snap at him irritably. "How noble. You think a few more acts of grace might have saved me from myself?"

Lupin's eyes flicker to Van Dalen who is watching me with a calculating expression. "I think," the doctor announces slowly, "that it would be beneficial if I were to floo Albus Dumbledore and check whether he is very busy."

While Van Dalen leaves to use the fireplace, presumably located in his living room, Lupin attempts to apologise:

"Severus, I didn't mean to offend-"

"You Gryffindors are all the same: so self centred," I drawl, interrupting before he can start grovelling. "You think everyone else's lives revolve around you. Do not attempt to second guess my motives for joining the Dark Lord, Lupin, they are too numerous and too complex for your lesser brain to comprehend."

Lupin ignores the insult and continues bravely, "I'm sorry, Severus, but-"

"I do not wish to hear what you have to say," I tell him, quite politely.

"-I think you're being unfair-"

"No Lupin," I shout over his babbling, "_This_ would be me being unfair…"

Van Dalen returns moments later, smiling. "Albus has promised to be with us momentarily. He has some small matters to attend-"

He stops dead on seeing Lupin, who is sitting bound and gagged in the middle of the floor, his head thrust through the torn canvas of the revolting Kneazle's Tea Party painting.

Van Dalen looks at me, sighs, and frees Lupin with a swish of his wand. He moves forward to pull the painting off over the werewolf's head and examines the damaged picture.

With a heavy sigh, Van Dalen turns to me, "Severus I think der is a lot of pent up resentment and anger dat you need to let go of. Would you care to take it out on my Hex-able Horklump?"

Placing the ruined painting beside his chair, Van Dalen summons from inside a cabinet an overstuffed, slightly charred, pink mushroom-shaped pillow.

I reply, curling my lip in disdain, "I'd rather not."

"Go on," Van Dalen urges, smiling encouragingly, "many of my previous clients have found it extremely helpful." He places it down on the carpet in front of me.

With a revolted sneer, I direct my wand at the offending object and send a half-hearted Furnunculus jinx at it.

The Horklump squeaks, emitting a shower of pink heart shaped bubbles. Weirdly transfixed, I send another, more violent hex at the toy. This time its squeak sounds more like a giggle before it spurts another cascade of hearts.

"How infuriating; isn't there a way to make it cry?"

Van Dalen's frowning reply is interrupted by a soft knock at the door. The doctor beams, and invites none other than Albus Dumbledore into the room. Lupin clambers back onto the sofa, eyeing me warily.

The smiling, twinkling Headmaster is resplendent as ever in purple and gold speckled robes. After a series of greetings, admittedly unenthused on my part, Dumbledore settles down in the chair Van Dalen has conjured up beside me and folds his hands in his lap expectantly.

"Albus, I have asked you here because I think it would be helpful if you were to justify certain disciplinary decisions the school has made in de past," Van Dalen explains. "I think Zeverus feels that back when he was a student at Hogwarts, his welfare was, at times, overlooked."

Dumbledore says nothing, but gestures for Van Dalen to continue when the Doctor pauses to gauge his reaction. The Headmaster has had the decency to school his features into an expression of solemnity.

"Zeverus has expressed that he feels he was treated unfairly by those in authority who openly favoured certain other pupils in his year."

"Severus has already made his feelings in this regard quite clear on several previous occasions." Feeling Dumbledore's gaze fix on me, I stare resolutely forward. There is something stinging in his remark. Many a time have I accused him of favouring Potter's ilk only to have my allegations dismissed.

"His excessive complaints have been acknowledged and I have little more to say on the matter but feel free to continue." Dumbledore's small smile is forced.

Van Dalen looks surprised. "Zeverus, do you feel Albus still owes you an explanation for any of his decisions regarding the discipline of you or Sirius Black's friends when you were in school?"

"I doubt the Headmaster wishes to hear any more of my 'excessive complaints', Doctor," I reply coldly.

"Why do you think that, Severus?"

"Because-" I am too weary of this session to put up much of a resistance against his nudging "-as the Headmaster has told you, I have accused him before of favouring the amazing Gryffindor quartet and he has yet to admit to his blatant preferential treatment of them."

"Perhaps today, if you would be so patient as to ask again, you will receive a more full answer," Van Dalen urges, looking pointedly at Dumbledore.

"Very well," I drawl lazily, and turn to glare with all the strength I can summon at the Headmaster, "What was your reasoning behind punishing attempted murder with detentions, and the _victim_ of this crime with the same?"

It is always somewhat irritating that no matter how much I glower at the Headmaster, he always meets my anger with calm acceptance and benignity.

"With hindsight, I realise it could have been better handled, Severus, of course I do. But you were out of bounds that evening, after curfew- had you been where you were supposed to be the dreadful event would not have occurred," the old man explains smoothly.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I snarl, "I am forty years old, Albus, I do not wish to be scolded for petty misdemeanours I committed as a schoolboy."

"Remus?"

The werewolf jumps when Van Dalen addresses him. "How did you feel about the punishment Sirius Black received? Did you think it fitting, considering the extent to which his actions might have harmed both you and Severus?"

Lupin hesitates for too long so that Van Dalen feels it is necessary to remind him that he is speaking amongst friends- a remark which earns a sneer from me. With one nervous glance at Albus, who is smiling kindly at Lupin, the werewolf blurts out, "At the time I felt it was entirely too lenient. I felt it was an insult to the value of my life, and Severus'. We could have both died as a consequence of Sirius' recklessness and it seemed to me that our lives amounted to a month's worth of detentions. At sixteen years old, that angered me."

The werewolf felt angry? Merlin, we might all have _died_- the unrestrained fury of Remus Lupin would have been absolutely terrifying to behold, I am sure.

After a moment, Dumbledore responds gently, "I felt that Sirius' guilt when he realised the gravity of what he had done, of what it might have cost him and _both_ of you," his stress of the word "both" earns him an incredulous snort, "was punishment enough."

"Black felt no remorse over what he almost cost _me_," I snap impatiently.

Dumbledore bows his head and says quietly, "Perhaps not, but even then he cared a great deal for Remus."

"That is beside the point-"

"On the contrary, Severus, I think that is very much the point," Dumbledore counters, his voice and eyes steely, "You wished to question my decisions regarding Sirius' punishment for the incident in your sixth year and I have given you my reason."

Grinding my teeth, I bite out, "Had I pulled the same prank I would have been expelled immediately."

The Headmaster's response is curious; he hesitates to answer, peering over his half-moon glasses at me in a way that never fails to make me feel uncomfortable. "I do not believe that would have been so, Severus," he replies softly. "Perhaps this will make it easier for you to accept the decision I made all those years ago or perhaps it will merely sound like the feeble excuse of an old man. You should know that expulsion certainly was threatened. However I could no more bring myself to expel Sirius than I could ever have brought myself to expel you, knowing full well the sort of homes you would both be sent back to."

Before I can think of an argument, Van Dalen rejoins the discussion. "Albus, Remus was telling us dat he felt it was his own hesitancy to stop his friends from tormenting Zeverus that caused Zeverus to lose faith in de side of de Light."

I wonder what Van Dalen is driving at.

Dumbledore gazes at Lupin, his expression inscrutable. "In their fifth year I appointed Remus as a Gryffindor prefect. While he did a commendable job, he perhaps did not always feel able to stand up to his friends when intervention was required." Lupin once again, looks genuinely ashamed. "Do not think that I hold it against you, Remus," Dumbledore assures him quickly, "That degree of bravery is rare even in the best of men."

Van Dalen presses on, "Zeverus seemed to feel de bullying he suffered at de hands of de Marauders' and Remus' hesitation to enforce discipline had nothing to do with his joining the Death Eaters," the doctor eyes me shrewdly, "and I am inclined to agree with him. But I wish to go further, and suggest dat perhaps de wizard whose intervention would have made a significant difference to Zeverus' choices later in life was not Remus, but you, Albus."

There is, for a moment, silence. The Headmaster watches for my reaction and when he receives none, speaks my name in a tone I cannot discern.

Surely he knew. Surely he could have guessed. The world's most powerful wizard cannot have been so clueless.

"Severus," he says again. I cannot bear to hear my name spoken in that voice.

"As I have already told Lupin, my reasons for joining the Dark Lord's ranks were many and multifaceted," I tell him impatiently.

"But I am right," Van Dalen nudges, "am I not? In thinking Albus' inaction was a part of de reason?"

There is another uncomfortable silence that stretches on unbearably. Then my name again, in that voice.

"I believed you cared nothing for me," I mutter eventually, shrugging my shoulders. If talking will stop him saying my name over and over, I'll talk. "All the Slytherins of our era were agreed that the Headmaster favoured the Gryffindors over us. The Dark Lord cultivated these doubts, promising us power and glory and universal recognition of our worth; he poisoned Salazar's House against you. We were led to believe Albus Dumbledore hated Slytherins and hated the traditional values we stood for. It was never hard for us to find evidence for these claims.

"They amused you, did they not, Headmaster? Lupin and his friends with their clever little pranks and cheap tricks played at the expense of the other students, most notably myself," Dumbledore listens without a word of argument while years of quiet resentment comes bursting forth. "You have frequently accused me of lacking a sense of humour- perhaps you would care to explain precisely what it is that you find so terribly amusing about putting an eleven year old in the Hospital Wing for a week with a grease globule-generating hex?" I feel rather than see Dumbledore twitch uneasily. "It has always been the way at Hogwarts that when it comes to such incidents, the perpetrators are called playful if they are in Gryffindor House and malicious if they are from Slytherin. Those who have the audacity to cast curses which leave a superficial injury are proclaimed Dark Wizards but anything else is quite permissible so long as the scars rendered are on the mind and not on the body.

"The hypocrisy is sickening," I hiss vehemently.

"I didn't need convincing by the Dark Lord that you despised me purely for being in the wrong House; I was convinced of it already. At sixteen, your refusal to punish Black for attempting to take my life was the ultimate proof I needed."

I have resolutely been avoiding the Headmaster's gaze while I speak but the moment silence is allowed to settle again, I become acutely aware of his eyes on me. When he eventually speaks, the sadness throbbing through his words is real and raw,

"Why have you never mentioned this before now?"

Never before have I discussed my reasons for joining the Death Eaters with Dumbledore for the simple reason that he never seemed to deem it of great consequence; it was by far more important that I had renounced the Dark Lord and begged for salvation.

"What good would it have done?"

"Were you afraid I would trust you less?"

"Perhaps." Perhaps.

"I am sorry, Severus."

"More apologies, more damnable apologies," I mutter angrily. "As if words count for anything."

"I agree," Dumbledore says softly. Despite myself, I turn my head to face him. "Words alone count for nothing, if they are empty of meaning. But I know that declarations of trust," I look away again, fidgeting uncomfortably, "of love, count for something, especially to you. You do value words spoken in sincerity, I know you do. And I _sincerely_-" Dumbledore reaches over and takes my hand in his; I stare at it dumbly "-wish that I could have spared you the hurts you suffered in school.

"I do not ask you for forgiveness, but at least an acceptance of my apology."

After a pause, I nod stiffly.

"I know there is nothing I can say that will excuse the pain I've caused you-"

"You know, Headmaster," I say suddenly, pulling my hand from his grasp, "putting me in therapy isn't the best way to go about regaining my affection."

"I only want help for you, Severus."

"I don't need help," I snap, more than a little aggressive, "I was perfectly content before all of this ridiculous faffing about."

"Do you not feel de therapy is helping you at all, Zeverus?" Van Dalen asks.

The glare I give him seems to answer his question adequately as Van Dalen moves on to Lupin without repeating the question.

"What are your thoughts Remus?"

The werewolf tries to be positive: "I think it's maybe too early to tell," he offers lamely. Van Dalen merely nods, and notes something down in our file.

"We shall be tying this session up for today soon, I think," he says, glancing at his pocket watch; I will never again be able to look at that infernal thing without wanting to smash it.

"Before we say goodbye though, I have a proposition. I think that it might benefit Zeverus to visit me for another, private, session of hypnotherapy. How would you feel about that, Zeverus?"

I scoff at this. "You honestly think I would consent to another invasion of my mind? I absolutely refuse."

"Severus," Dumbledore implores, "if Doctor Van Dalen thinks it may be of help perhaps it would be wise to take time to consider-"

"Headmaster, given a century to mull it over my answer would remain the same. If the Doctor so desires to be filled in on the more scandalous details of my past perhaps you would be so good as to entertain him with a few anecdotes of our Occlumency lessons some years back; I'm sure he would find your recollections of my most private thoughts and memories compelling."

Dumbledore looks satisfyingly offended. Van Dalen continues to entreat me, "It is not for my benefit that I offer them Zeverus, but for your own. It is not good for a man to leave such old feelings of resentment to fester."

Van Dalen has turned to Dumbledore as though it is he who must be convinced of the hypnotherapy sessions' necessity.

"Albus," I address the Headmaster calmly, carefully controlling the volume and timbre of my voice, "I entered into this farce on your orders, given no choice in the matter and have attended each one of these blasted sessions without fail despite my misgivings. Surely you would not force my consent to undertaking a program that involves regularly laying my mind open?"

The old man answers gently, "My dear Severus, I cannot force you to help yourself. This is your own decision to make."

I turn and sneer triumphantly at Van Dalen, "Then you have your answer."

As we are about to leave, Van Dalen reminds me to take his hiccoughing Horklump pillow which has been intermittently releasing an odd pink bubble since its abandonment in the middle of the floor. I roll my eyes and gingerly pick it up, holding it at arms length between thumb and forefinger. The mushroom hums affectionately and wiggles happily in my grasp. Mindful of the odd looks I will no doubt receive should anyone see me on my return to Hogwarts holding this disgusting thing, I shrink it and place it in my pocket.

"Let me know, how you get on with it, Zeverus." I nod curtly. "It is charmed to resist five hundred different hexes, I'm sure you will return it in one piece."

Five hundred, you say? We shall see about that…

"I will see you at dinner, gentlemen," Dumbledore tells us by way of good bye. "I wish to stay and speak with Doctor Van Dalen for a few moments."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Van Dalen watches amused as Snape and Lupin become momentarily wedged in the doorway in their bid to escape the room as quickly as possible.

"How are they progressing Aesclapius?" Van Dalen turns to face Dumbledore whose intense blue gaze is fixed on him imploringly.

The Doctor formulates his answer carefully, "I have not had to use a Tickling Charm for de past two sessions now," he offers, feigning optimism, but Dumbledore continues to watch him intently. "I think I perhaps underestimated de difficulty of de situation." Dumbledore is still recovering from Severus' outburst and he allows his disappointment to show.

"Dat is not to say," Van Dalen quickly amends, "dat der is no hope; on de contrary, I still believe I can help them a great deal." The old Headmaster smiles sadly- he is weary and it shows. "But it will be a challenge."

Van Dalen regards Dumbledore for a moment, who has fallen to staring pensively at the carpet, and summons a tea set and a packet of chocolate bourbons.

"Here, Doctor's orders," Van Dalen passes the other man a cup of tea and receives a grateful smile. A comfortable silence falls as the two old friends share a fortifying mid-afternoon break.

After several minutes Van Dalen probes gently, "I would be right in assuming you did not enjoy hearing what Severus had to say?"

Dumbledore shakes his head dismissively; "My dear Aesclapius, I have been waiting to hear it for a long time now," he pauses to take a delicate sip, "One would think I would have been better prepared for it."

Aesclapius Van Dalen looks on in dismay as the most powerful wizard in the world sinks back into the armchair's claret upholstery with a sigh so heavy it might contain all of the hurts of their world since the dawn of time.

"I have failed Severus, I have failed Harry, I failed Sirius and look! Look what became of him. Are all my children to meet the same fate in the end? Have I unwittingly sentenced them all to early deaths through an old man's misjudgements?" Dumbledore closes his eyes and says inaudibly, "An old fool's high hopes.

"I fear for Severus and Remus- I fear that if they are unable to trust each other, to put the past well and truly behind them, when the battle rages and our enemies close in around us, I fear that we may fall apart from the inside." Here, he looks beseechingly at Van Dalen. "If two of my most intelligent, most dedicated Professors are unable to settle their differences, how are we to expect the students to do so?"

"Albus, I think you are being unfair on your students; Zeverus and Remus' situation is quite unique-"

"Is it, Aesclapius? How many other students over the years have passed through Hogwarts as Severus did? Isolated and tormented to the point where they felt the only place to turn was Voldemort and his honeyed promises?"

"Were you not aware of the victimisation Zeverus suffered whilst at school?" Van Dalen asks.

Dumbledore shakes his head sadly, "To what magnitude I only realised many years later once it was too late."

"Albus I was quite frankly shocked at some of his accounts of de bullying whilst under hypnosis. Surely such things did not happen when I was at school- I remember Hogwarts was a happy place back then."

"My dear Aesclapius, I am sure such things did happen frequently but you were blind to it, as was I back when Severus was a student. Indeed it wasn't until I began teaching Severus Occlumency that I discovered to what extent the tormenting went.

"Severus is an example of the many students who slipped into the darkness while my head was turned."

"You couldn't save them all, Albus."

"No," says Dumbledore, "but I might have saved him."

"You did, eventually."

"No, Aesclapius. Severus saved himself, and for that I will be forever proud of him. I only regret that he ever needed to. And I cannot help but blame myself."

The two old men sit together in silence and drink their tea. An old sadness hangs like smoke in the air above them.

"You are fond of Zeverus," Van Dalen states, after a time.

Dumbledore gazes into the dregs of his tea, "Someone needs to be," he says simply. It is true he has developed a soft spot where the Potions Master is concerned. Dumbledore knows Severus would hate for the old wizard to pity him; still, he cannot help but feel for the surly wizard.

"Thank you for the tea, Aesclapius," Dumbledore says, smiling warmly at the Doctor as he rises to leave, already thinking of the many matters he must see to before dinner. A glimmer of his old good humour having returned, he asks, "How much do I owe you for these twenty minutes of your counsel?"

Van Dalen laughs and pats Dumbledore on the arm as he sees him out, "As you well know, there is no charge for an old friend, Albus."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Several weeks have gone by in which little of significance has passed, unless of course you wish to count unusually frequent invitations for tea with the Headmaster as being worthy of note. If he took less care, one might arrive at the conclusion that he is harbouring feelings of guilt after our last session.

My Boggart-Banishing practice is finally coming to fruition- I am almost able to completely banish the smaller creatures without a problem.

When I arrive at Van Dalen's home, I remember to return to him the 'literature' he was so kind as to lend me, though I am sure that to call the leather-bound leaves of florid tripe bestowed upon me 'literature' is an insult to the many writers who have worked years to enrich and refine their art.

"Ah!" Van Dalen claps his hands together jollily, "I forgot to ask you in de previous session, Zeverus, how did you enjoy it?"

I had made the considerable effort to read my borrowed copy of "Hairy Snout, Human Heart" before our last meeting in anticipation of a grilling on the subject; therefore I was rather disappointed that I had wasted my time on it- truly, the book is substandard sensationalism at best.

"Not at all. The written style is tedious and frilly, and the writer's excessive, self indulgent, self-pitying ramblings were both infuriating and at times incoherent. How it even made publication is a mystery which would probably merit a book of its own- no doubt blackmail and other criminal methods of persuasion were involved."

"But what did you think of de author and his harrowing struggle?" Van Dalen presses me, looking somewhat affronted on the author's behalf. "Did you not feel empathy for his plight? Did you not wonder at the unfairness of de discrimination he suffered? Were you not moved by his hopeless struggle to gain custody of his children after the death of his wife?"

"His methods of protest against the Ministry's actions were inappropriate and overblown; rather than inspiring sympathy they only served to make him appear all the more irresponsible as a parent," I drawl, recalling how the werewolf describes in his trashy memoirs his melodramatic bids to make a political point about the Ministry's laws against allowing werewolves to retain sole custody of any underage children. (1) One of these stunts involved transfiguring a broomstick into a giant firework and riding it through Hogsmeade. "2nd degree burns and charges of arson for his efforts- the only injustice was that the pillock wasn't convicted."

Van Dalen shrugs, "You can't please everyone I suppose," he says airily, "Have you read it, Remus?"

"Yes- actually, I'm inclined to agree with Severus in regards to the author's style, though you were perhaps a little harsh on him."

"I have the greatest confidence that you will surpass him in your own endeavours," I tell Lupin sarcastically and am satisfied to see a faint blush rise from under his collar.

Since Remus revealed his (rather dubious) talent for poetry we have been treated to several showcases of Lupin's creative endeavours, which range from the pitifully amateur to the embarrassingly abysmal. Last week, however, he announced that he was tentatively considering writing a book! I'm afraid my laughter was difficult to stifle.

"Zeverus, how is my Hex-able Horlklump?"

Ah, the lovable pink mushroom. "Incinerated."

Van Dalen lets out a squeak so remarkably like the Horklump that it would seem he was channelling its spirit.

"But-" Van Dalen is shaking his head in disbelieving dismay "- it was resistant to-"

"Five hundred different hexes, yes- it took me an entire afternoon to annihilate it. I'm still finding stray bubbles around my quarters," I muse.

Van Dalen lets out a strangled whimper.

"You spent a whole afternoon trying to kill it?" Lupin asks me, his brows furrowed in a worried frown.

"You can't _kill_ a pillow, Lupin," I tell him patiently. "You see, it was never really alive in the first place."

"But-" Lupin looks at me incredulously "-you spent a _whole afternoon_ at it?"

"I have a lot of pent up aggression," I tell him, smirking wickedly.

Lupin only shakes his head, dumbfounded.

"We are going to take a break from dwelling on de past and spend some time looking toward de future!" For one dreaded moment I expect Van Dalen to produce from the depths of his desk a deck of tarot cards or a crystal ball but he goes on to inform us that "I perceive you both to have very low self esteems.

"Now, Remus, I am right in thinking your continued pursuit of self expression through de mediums of paint and de written word have certainly been of benefit to you, am I not?"

The werewolf nods. I have been ordered to show Lupin encouragement so that he feels 'supported on his personal journey to self acceptance'. For his most recent charcoal rendering of lycanthropus I had this to say: "My, my! It almost looks as though it could leap right of the page and maul you. Most impressive, Lupin."

"Would you agree it has allowed you to better accept your Inner Wolf?"

I am struck with the bizarre image of a lupine guru levitating cross-legged towards enlightenment and find I need every ounce of concentration I possess to keep my mouth from twitching at the edges.

"Dat is good, yah? But now, there is a need for you both to learn to love yourselves and celebrate your self worth! I do not think you will be able to accept each other for what you are until you can accept yourselves."

Sarcasm just won't allow me to express my disdain this time.

"And precisely what is it that you have in mind?" I ask somewhat nervously, my mounting trepidation evident in my voice.

Van Dalen treats us to a lopsided grin; "Through de magic-" here he pauses for dramatic effect "- of music!

"We are going to sing-" oh no. _No_ "-some positive thinking songs!"

Even Lupin feels the need to protest this time: "Normally I wouldn't question your judgement, Doctor; after all, you are obviously much more knowledgeable in such matters, highly qualified as you are," Lupin flatters the dimwit easily and Van Dalen beams at him with affection, "But I think I speak for both of us when I say that neither I nor Severus is really musically inclined."

My fervent nodding in agreement with Lupin goes unnoticed.

"Tcha! We are not on de Wizarding Wireless Network! Dis is good fun, yah!" Fun? Fun! Oh, indeed… "I think Zeverus especially needs to lighten up!"

I grind my teeth at this but say nothing. Van Dalen hands us a leaf of parchment on which the lyrics to two songs have been written in his scrawling handwriting for us to follow.

"Dey are based on a pair of muggle songs I am particularly fond of- it is my late wife's doing. She would often play de Muggle music and through her I developed a liking for it." How nauseating. "I will play de songs a few times so that you can learn de tunes, yah?"

Van Dalen summons a black box-shaped piece of Muggle technology similar to a Wizarding Wireless which begins to emanate dreadful music. As we follow the words written on the parchment Lupin holds for me to see, I note that Van Dalen has made some dire modifications to the already appalling lyrics.

After several repetitions of the songs, Van Dalen seems to decide we have had sufficient time to grasp the general melodies and switches off the machine. Grinning from ear to ear, Doctor Van Fruitcake counts us in, waving his arms in an overzealous show of conducting, before launching into the song with gusto:

"_I feel good! Da na na na na na na_

_I knew that I would, now_ – come now, Professors, join in!"

Lupin and I share a glance, before muttering the words tunelessly,

"_I feel nice_" -taking it in turns to pause and peer closer at the parchment to decipher Van Dalen's appalling handwriting-

"_Like_ sog- sage- oh, _sugar_, _sugar and spice_..."

"With some energy, yah?"

Lupin complies by speaking the next few lines a little louder,

"_I'll embrace life with my arms_

_I'm having fun singing this song!_

_I'm gonna cast some Cheering Charms_"

But he begins to lose heart somewhere after "_A smile can't do me no harm_."

"_I feel good, I knew that I would  
So good, so good, 'cause I am me!_" We finish dispassionately.

"Dat was pitiful!" Van Dalen cries, his cheeks still flushed from his heartfelt warbling. "I want you to project your voices loud and clear! I want to hear you say deez words like you mean them!" I roll my eyes and Lupin sighs softly beside me. "I want you to feel empowered with self belief; you will think positively and feel uplifted! Feel de music reaching deep inside you and drawing out all de sadness, all de fear!

"Let us try the next song: one, two three: _I believe I can fly_ – louder! – _I believe I can touch de sky_!

"_I think about it every night and day,_

_Hop on my broom and fly away_…"

Van Dalen shuts his eyes tight as he becomes absorbed in the song- it is then that an idea strikes me.

"_I believe I can soar,_

_I feel alive like never befor- or -ore!_

_I believe I can fly!_"

So do I, Doctor, so do I… So enraptured by the melody, Van Dalen does not notice me draw my wand from my robes and cast a covert levitation charm; the little man begins to float slowly upwards amid his rousing chorus in a booming baritone.

" '_cause I believe in meeeeee_- aaaaaaiiii!"

Opening his eyes, Van Dalen realises he is five feet in the air and shrieks in surprise. His look of shock is priceless. Lupin, who has been shaking with barely suppressed laughter, gives in and doubles up, holding his sides.

I smirk and let him fall with a plop into his chair. "Why the surprise, Doctor? Self belief- it can do wonders, you know."

Van Dalen smiles thinly, "I was unaware you had such a sense of humour, Zeverus."

"I prefer to call it a rapier wit, if you don't mind."

For a moment, my eyes meet Lupin's. He is smiling at me appreciatively. The fleeting impression that we are linked by something even as small as a common desire to see Van Dalen shaken, united against a common foe as it were, throws me off balance. I scowl reflexively at him, causing the smile to wither on his lips; he averts his eyes quickly.

"We will move on, I think," Van Dalen snaps, summoning back his song-words before handing us each a blank roll of parchment, quills and ink.

"You in particular will find this a challenge, Zeverus," Van Dalen tells me snidely, "as it is not something you will be accustomed to doing."

My response is a lazily lifted eyebrow.

"You will each think of and write down five compliments for the other. Consider them carefully. You have fifteen minutes after which time I will ask you to read them to each other.

"De aim of this is to share a mutually beneficial exercise guaranteed to help raise your self esteem; it is a most interesting exercise, as it often reveals to the participants attributes which they perhaps had not previously thought remarkable but others find admirable…."

Predictably, Van Dalen chooses me to shower Lupin with praise and compliments first. To my surprise, I found this task relatively easy compared to some of the other activities we have undertaken in therapy.

"Number One," Lupin gazes at me attentively, "Lupin has an amiable, good-natured disposition-" you see, I started out well, "-until the full moon, when he transforms into an amoral, bloodthirsty beast."

Both Lupin and Van Dalen look crestfallen. I press on, regardless.

"Number Two: at mealtimes in the Great Hall, Lupin, unlike some members of staff, refrains from scoffing all the bread rolls at my end of the table which is courteous of him." I was getting desperate by number two. "However his reserved appetite can no doubt be explained by the fact that he monthly gorges himself on human flesh.

"Number Three: Lupin is obviously secure enough in himself that he feels he does not feel the need to make an effort with his appearance.

"Number Four: Lupin's shabby, weather-beaten look is certainly a hit with the ladies. Why, just yesterday I heard Minerva (73 years old) comment on what a charming young man he is. And yet, since the loss of his partner, Sirius Black, poor Lupin has been unable to find himself another willing bedfellow. However, never one to be defeated, I am led to believe Lupin has found delightful company amongst the other beasts in the Forbidden Forest and is known to regularly engage in sexual acts with the local wildlife.

"And, Number Five: I think it admirable that Lupin has since withheld from taking another mate, realising that he is obviously jinxed since everyone he ever gets close to dies."

There is a silence which stretches out to uncomfortable lengths. Van Dalen is holding his head in his hands despairingly. Dear Lupin is actually looking quite livid.

"I give up," the werewolf mutters eventually. "I have tried to be civil to you, Severus. Merlin, I've tried being _nice_ to you!" Lupin's voice is rising both in volume and in pitch, his balled fists shaking with barely suppressed rage. "I've defended you in front of colleagues, students, _Harry,_ but all you ever do is throw it back in my face! You make insensitive, callous comments about my dead partner, you mock me for living a lifestyle that has been forced on me because the likes of you can't curb your ignorant prejudices, you even have the _audacity_ to remind me of the friends I lost to Voldemort-" I flinch reflexively at the use of His name. "_Voldemort_," Lupin says it again, apparently enjoying my reaction, "the very same _Voldemort_ whose service you were in for _three years_.

"You are childish and stubborn and inconsiderate and self-centred and arrogant and vicious and spiteful and I have had _enough_. Do you think I'm enjoying this any more than you? Having to sit here and listen to you repeatedly insult me week after week because I have the misfortune of being the easiest person to blame for the cesspit of misery that is your life? You complain, you criticise and you bully. And for all your superior intellect and self discipline and pure blood, all of which obviously leave you under the illusion that you are somehow better than me, you manage to miss the obvious fact that we're here because of you! This is _your_ fault, _your_ problem-"

"Now Remus," Van Dalen interjects, "we don't blame phobia sufferers for-"

"-and you're not even _trying_! It's you who needs to change, not me. I can't change! I'm stuck like this for the rest of my life- I'm dealing with it, you're not! Criticising me isn't going to make your fear go away- maybe it numbs it a little, takes the edge off because you can pretend for a moment that you have some power over me, but you don't, Severus, because I've had it with feeling guilty for what I am and its hard for me to feel guilty for what I've done to you in the past when you're acting like such an arse!"

On that note, Lupin finishes and continues to glare at me, flushed in the face and panting slightly. That I have managed to incense meek and mild Remus Lupin this much is surely quite a feat. I blink slowly, turn to Van Dalen, and smirking tell him: "You'll have to excuse him, Doctor, it's his PMS (Pre-Moon Syndrome, you know). He gets ever so cranky around this time of the month-"

A low growl escapes Lupin and I roll my eyes, "Down, boy."

Looking quite murderous, in a flash Lupin has drawn his wand and before I can react he has hexed me.

Van Dalen belatedly restrains Lupin and wearily reminds us that violence is not conductive to what we are trying to achieve in these sessions.

I open my mouth to protest but Van Dalen continues, "I don't want to hear it. I think you should both apologise to each other."

Lupin is sat mere inches away from me, fuming silently.

"I apologise," I concede, without a trace of sincerity.

Van Dalen eyes Lupin critically before releasing him from the body bind. The moment he is free of his invisible bonds, the werewolf rises to his feet.

"Remus?" Van Dalen cocks his head at Lupin who is moving towards the door.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, I-" Lupin mutters, fumbling with the door handle, his hands still trembling in indignation, "I refuse to stay and be subjected to this."

And with that, Remus Lupin storms out of the room.

Van Dalen watches him go resignedly. The door slams in its frame behind him and the sharp sound seems to suspend all others for time. Van Dalen watches me intently for a while.

"He didn't apologise to me," I remark haughtily to break the silence.

Van Dalen ignores this and says "I hope you're satisfied now."

"Amply." I only wanted to get a rise out of Lupin; his little tirade and stomping out of the room were both quite unexpected.

Van Dalen raises his wand causing me to tense for a moment, but he merely summons to him a roll of parchment which has been discarded on the floor.

Clearing his throat, the Doctor begins to read it aloud:

"Number One: Zeverus is a talented and dedicated teacher.

Number Two: He is intelligent and has a sharp sense of humour.

Number Three: Zeverus has a pleasing voice to listen to, even when he is complaining about Harry Potter/me/the world in general.

Number Four: He is a responsible and protective mentor to his Slytherins, the trust of whom is a testament to his understanding of them, which I think admirable.

Number Five: He has rather startling eyes."

Lupin's compliments….

"Have you anything to say?"

I pause thoughtfully.

"Do you know the counter curse for this?" I ask, gesturing at the electric blue tentacles which now replace my legs, courtesy of R J Lupin.

Van Dalen eyes my new tentacles for a moment then shakes his head.

I glare sourly at them and one rises up to slap me wetly on the cheek.

"Neither do I."

* * *

(1) This little insight into Wizarding Law with regards to the treatment of werewolves is based on _Regulations of the Ministry - Werewolf Registry by Gwendolyn Grace_.

* * *

AN: I know what you're thinking- almost a year of waiting for _that_. Hehe. We're just about half way through now, folks. We might even get to the slash before Book 7 comes out! I do sincerely apologise for the length of time readers have had to wait- hopefully it won't be so long until the next update! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and emailed me begging that I continue and to everyone who has offered criticism of the first chapter (the end of which has been altered slightly). 

Oh, and I also apologise for allowing Van Dalen to mercilessly destroy James Brown's "I Feel Good" and R Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly"- we've had a little chat and he's promised not to do it again.


End file.
